Une Fleuraison Constante
by trimurti
Summary: [A Constant Blossoming] AU. Within Ivalice the land is Ivalice the castle, the centuriesold stronghold. As life is variable and malleable, so are the fates of those who enter through the castle gates... [Discontinued]
1. Prologue: This Land, This Castle

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Prologue: This Land, This Castle

The whole of the country shone with an emerald beauty, from the spring-green blades of grass of the sweeping plains to the viridian needles of the mightiest evergreens that towered above in the many great forests throughout the land. While there were touches of human development about, small villages of yellow clay bricks and cherry wood roofs dotting the landscape but never overtaking it, most of the country was still pure, still virgin from the complicated constructs that a man's hands could weave. Tiny woodland spirits like the chatty moogle were free to hold friendly conversations with sunny-plumed chocobos while indomitable monsters such as the boisterous behemoth could square off against a stout minitaurus without being disturbed, their battles so ferocious that the earth would tremble and creak as their massive bodies slammed onto the unforgiving ground. The land was as untamed as the battles of those monsters, nothing holding it back from flourishing in life in all its forms. In an ancient language, long dead but having the phoenix-like quality of regenerating in the spoken words of today, that daily jubilation known as life was called 'yvalice'. As such, the name of the continent to the human dwellers--the only ones to care for such a trivial notion--was Ivalice.

What bloomed from Ivalice the country was a grand human achievement of the same name.

Situated on a wide but short hill with a veritable sea of grasses rippling and shimmering with the breezes from the Larner channel to the north, the multistoried, ivory-colored castle was simply beyond comparison to anything any human had ever conceived of in his mind. Initially developed by the refugees of one country or another during the times when godless hordes incited wars until the skies themselves grew bleak with foreboding, it was intended to become both immaculate fortress and complex city. The leader of the beginning architectural work was one Cidnei Fabool, and he compelled his fellow refugees to journey throughout their adopted continent, dragging boulders of luminescent white from the southwest and east, fine artisans carving these mysterious stones under his supervision while the various and many holy men put aside their theological differences and united under Ajora Glabados, continually blessing the raw materials that would form their home.

The work to build their home continued to the sons and daughters of these immigrants, and their sons and daughters, and so on until nearly a century had passed and the last brick was set in place. In reverence of their combined efforts and the solidarity of both the people as well as their home, these Ivalicians--for they were truly of the land of Ivalice by now--blessed their castle one final time and named it in their burgeoning Ivalician language _La Pureté d'Ivoire de la Bénédiction de Dieu étreint le Château d'Ivalice_, or The Ivory Purity of the Blessing of God Embraces the Castle of Ivalice.

Truly, it was an auspicious beginning to this, the legendary home of these misplaced people.

The castle did not so much as take up the hill it was situated on as it was sprawled over the diameter of it. Including the royal quarters and the feasting area, where all those who dwelt in the castle celebrated the major holidays together, there were four distinct sections of the castle. All of them were linked together by a multitude of crossing walkways and staircases, creating a sense of complete connection even while the halls, as three of the four sections were so named, remained mostly autonomous from the others. Altogether, the castle could keep two thousand people in relative comfort within its walls, and up to nearly four thousand should the occasion call for it. The people of the castle ranged from knights to magicians, lords and ladies of all ranks of nobility, merchants and artisans, servants and lay people, the clergy and royalty, all sorts of people entering and exiting the resplendent dwelling whenever the weather permitted it.

Over the centuries between the castle's conception to the present moment, the Ivalicians had shown a devastating potential to be quite the contentious lot, quibbling over the tiniest infractions until the entire castle would be mobilized in the feud. The knights of the involved families would challenge their new rivals at the appropriate festivals, or, if there weren't any on the horizon, to a hunt that would last from the barest rays of the dawning sun to just after the sun had sank to the west, presumably tired from watching these humans chase after various game. Due to the increasing amount of feuds, it was by royal decree that the various families would be divided into two of the largest halls, creating two distinct factions while reminding everyone that they were all under the king's authority and that it would be best to not risk his ire any more than they had already. The tempers lowered to an overall simmer, the families acclimated well to their individual halls, and most rivalries since were in mere fun and to make for more exciting festivals.

The halls had evolved into such that the people of one hall had markedly different ideologies and lifestyles from the others. They were decorated with specific colors of tradition, from curtains to rugs to the uniforms of their military. Within the westernmost hall lived all the families under the Gallionne banner. Draperies of blue and gold hung from the rafters of their part of the castle, dark blue insignias in the form of a lion imprinted upon the white capes of the knights of their military faction, proudly named the Hokuten. Down the hallways that led to the eastern section of the castle was the Zeltennia hall. Their own colors were of deep crimson and gold, the former imprinting the mark of a blood-red lion upon the white capes of their Nanten knights. In the northernmost hall, known by all as Murond, lived the clergy of the Order of Glabados, named after the holy man who had united the priests of all different religions during the initial building of the castle. Their colors were black upon a deep crimson; their military faction, called the Shrine Knights, did not generally wield these colors, but rather wore surcoats with the individual's color of rank over exquisite golden armor.

On the surface of things, daily life in the castle was rewarding and interesting. Ivalice was the epitome of life constantly abloom, wonderful miracles and dazzling splendors in even the most mundane of situations.

And where life travels, death lurks closely behind.

-End of prologue-

What inspired this story--completely in rambly third-person, I'll warn you now--was a discussion I had with a fellow writer by the name of Samuraiter. We were discussing a point he had made about _Within Holy Walls_, specifically that some of the dialogue seemed too modern for him. I commented that the Japanese version of FFT uses modern dialogue; he noted the fact that the setting is predominately medieval. We agreed to disagree, but it did get me thinking about intent versus actual usage. Then I thought about writing a fairytale-esque romance between Beowulf and Reis, because fairytales are about the only thing that can inspire me to write dialogue in that overly proper style. And then the dreaded thought struck: Why not go further? 

While this story is decidedly alternative universe, it uses many mechanics of the FFT world. Think of this castle as a sociological construct of a microcosm of the land of Ivalice as displayed in the game. There will be a few fairytale-esque ideals, there will be most, if not every, FFT character portrayed (yes, even Bolmna), and there will be a plot that mirrors while distorting the image of the game.

For those that have deep-seated suspicions that AU equals utter and complete destruction of character development, please keep reading. I'll try my hardest to dissuade you from that belief, even if it's just for this story.

This will be either a biweekly serial or a whenever I feel like it story, depending on overall interest.


	2. 1: Simple Day

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)  
  
By Tenshi no Ai  
  
All French translations by Hawk of Death  
  
I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter One: Simple Day

From the eastern horizon the sun seemed to bloom from the land, heralded by the soft hues of plum and peach as it sought to usher in the new day. As the darkness of the lingering night faded into the clear blue skies of another beautiful spring day, Ivalice sleepily awoke and began its daily rituals. While various monsters scampered about the dewy fields and shady forests for their meals, humans were ambling about in their respective villages, performing whatever they considered to be their life's work. Young women squeezed out liberal amounts of milk from the bulging udders of domesticated bull demons while young men urged on great minitaureans in the work of plowing the fields. Adults of both sexes began to open their shops and eating establishments, often helped or hindered by their children. Still others packed their goods onto rickety carts and wagons drawn by brightly-colored chocobos and made their way out, traveling on the well worn paths strewn throughout the country. Many of these paths led to the center of the land, the ride bumpy and unimpressive until the grand _Château d'Ivalice _seemed to literally appear out of nowhere, like a memory bidden by the faintest touch or scent.  
  
Within the castle itself, the main flurry of activity was at the ground level as various merchants gathered from their respective halls, setting up their wares of the day from before the sun had decided to rise. Servants from the various noble families would hurry down to this area, gathering the best foods for their masters' and mistresses' breakfast before scurrying back and delivering the ingredients to the personal family cooks. For those not of the nobility or who could not stand their family at such an early time, if at all, there were large areas in each of the three halls where they could partake of their meals. These places were all run by harried women who could ill afford to be intimidated by the amount of people they would have to serve each day.  
  
The higher the rank, the later they tended to wake. The only two exceptions to this case were the priests of Murond, for they had a requisite prayer time before performing the various acts of good and God needed for each day, and all the knights gathered within the ivory stronghold. By daybreak these good men and women would be hard at work training or relieving those who had the misfortune to have guard duty throughout the night. They accounted for most of the crowd at the various meal areas, chatting in full armor while they consumed their morning bread. This scenario was no different in either Murond, Zeltennia, or Gallionne.  
  
However, Sir Zalbag Beoulve, commander of the Hokuten faction of Gallionne, preferred to eat breakfast at his desk.  
  
This morning was no different from any other for him as he sat behind his large oak desk and idly took a bite out of a piece of bread laden with jam--fruits were held by the Glabados faith to be far better for the body than butter--while reading through various reports. As was his wont, he wore a long-sleeved black tabard with silver and gold designs rising up from the bottom hem and a high-necked mantle over his shoulders; a predominately gray cape flowed from the gold epaulieres over his mantle. Perhaps the most distinctive thing about his uniform were the foreign pieces of armor over his arms and legs, a gift from Marquis Elmdor of Limberry village when the young man became commander. Indeed, Zalbag was young, only approaching his twenty-ninth birthday in the coming summer, yet his hazel eyes seemed much older. Perpetually stressed with the crises that had affected the Hokuten since his ascension, lately he had been unsurprised to find gray streaks in his otherwise immaculate reddish-blond hair.  
  
Swallowing down the last bite of his bread, he frowned at the paper before him before reaching for white quill that seemed to always be in the ink pot. He tapped the end of the dull utensil against the inner edge of the pot's opening before scribbling down a note in slanted handwriting. Just as he finished his notation, there was a knock at his door. Yes, what is it? he called, scanning through the next few lines and not bothering to glance at his door.  
  
A thin, nervous looking man in dark blue robes entered, instantly recognized by the knight as an aide to Duke Bestrada Larg, the head of Gallionne hall. Excuse me, Sir Zalbag. Lord Dycedarg wishes for your presence at his office.  
  
_I wonder if it has anything to do with what I was just reading_, Zalbag thought as he stood. Thank you, he said aloud, directing the comment more to the paper than to the aide. It was just as well, as the man scurried away after a requisite bow. Still frowning slightly, the commander followed shortly, closing the door behind him as he walked down the hall and up a winding flight of stairs into one of the many turrets of the castle, which was exclusively for the use of the Larg family. He looked around the area, swamped with blue and gold rugs and draperies over the white stone, shaking his head once before walking over to his brother's office and knocking on the closed door. Come in.  
  
Zalbag did so, entering the relatively plain surroundings with something bordering on relief. Other than the dark rug on which the desk was situated on, the room was devoid of Gallionne colors. Dycedarg Beoulve sat at the desk, dressed in the black and silver robe that made many a person think that the man was just a mere aide to Duke Larg. It surprised many to find out that the eldest Beoulve sibling was a Rune Knight, one of the rarest ranks of knighthood awarded in Ivalician history. Despite that, he had chosen to become the Duke's aide instead of inheriting the Hokuten command from their late father. Take a seat, Zalbag, Dycedarg gestured to the lone chair on the other side of the desk.  
  
No, I cannot stay long, the younger of the two closed his eyes. So then, the Royal Order truly believes that the Death Knights have ceased their attacks?  
  
Dycedarg leaned back in his chair, stroking the end of his beard. Having shared the same parentage, the elder brother also had the same reddish hair, albeit with fewer gray hairs despite an age difference of eight years. Apparently so, he answered. It would be an ideal time to bring Alma and Teta back to the castle.That is true, Zalbag nodded slowly, opening his eyes to look at the elder man, I will send the best knights available--That should not be necessary.Send Ramza and Delita in their stead. It would be good for them to leave the castle every now and then.Without escorts? Zalbag, skeptical of the suggestion, crossed his arms as he aimed a questioning look at his brother. Even if the news is true, it seems reckless to allow them to go off without first examining the veracity of this claim.  
  
The look Dycedarg sent to his younger brother was piercing, yet a small smile crept over his face. Father was not nearly so protective. Zalbag smiled too, despite himself, Mother was, though. He looked away, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. Alright, you win. I will have them leave today. Dycedarg said, nodding more to himself. The coming festival would not be the same without everyone together again.  
  
The younger man blinked in surprise at the admission; his brother did not readily reveal sentimental feelings. Yes, that is true. Well, I shall go and find those two. He was about to leave the room when the door opened, revealing Duke Larg, who was dressed in his usual robes of red and blue. My lord, Zalbag quickly knelt, the speed of the action eliciting a chuckle from the duke.  
  
It is alright, Sir Zalbag. You may go. At the duke's words, the Hokuten commander rose and left the room without raising his head. Duke Larg looked over at his closest aide, the good humor quickly draining from his youthful features. He was young for a duke, the same age as the eldest Beoulve at thirty-seven, but being the brother of the queen of Ivalice it was a foregone conclusion that he would be a highly ranked noble, regardless of his age. Is everything going well?Yes, my lord, everything is going as I said it would, Dycedarg answered respectfully, do not trouble yourself with these minor things.It is a relief to hear that from you. Very well, I will leave everything in your hands. Ruvelia has informed me that everything has gone well on her end as well, the duke smiled, though some nervousness lay within his blue eyes. Of course, if anything should happen...  
  
The eldest Beoulve smiled, though it was a cold one. There are plans for that as well. Do not worry yourself too much, my lord.

-0-

Surrender now, or die in obscurity!Do you think those words will frighten me, coming from you?  
  
Sword blades clashed together in harsh dissonance once, twice, three times before their owners backed away, glaring at each other warily. One was blond and the other a brunet, sharing similar dark brown eyes that, despite the harsh looks they were giving to each other, danced with excitable joy.  
  
They should, since they come from a Beoulve!Oh, are we wielding names instead of swords now?  
  
The blond dashed forward at his friend's comment, the sword in his right hand swinging down in an overhead strike that was easily thwarted by the brunet's own sword. Metal streaked along metal with an ugly screech before the brunet went on the offensive with a stab at his friend's left side. The tip of the sword was parried away by the other, who adopted a fencing stance afterward.  
  
Do you want to keep playing at this game, Delita?Serious now, Ramza? Fine!  
  
Ramza lunged forward with a basic fencing strike, which Delita parried before it could hit his red leather armor, not bothering to adopt the style his friend was now using. Instead he swung his sword diagonally at the blue-clad blonde, who deflected the blow. Soon the match degraded to the friends striking the other's swords in a futile attempt to score a point on the other and utterly failing to come anywhere close to that goal.  
  
So, is that what the instructor is teaching you two? Perhaps I should replace him with someone with competent skills...  
  
Both boys quickly lowered their swords at the voice, Ramza looking around with wide eyes. Brother! What are you doing out here?  
  
Zalbag glanced around. They were outside of the castle, in a small alcove of the castle walls. He knew that the two often came out here to practice their swordplay just after breakfast, as they had afternoon practice with the rest of the Hokuten cadets. I have a mission for you two, he answered lightly.  
  
A mission, sir? Delita asked quietly. His hair, which was fairly long with the ends touching past his earlobes, was messily hanging over his ears. His complexion was darker than most of the residents of the castle, an olive tone than reddened nicely in the sun. There was something of shrewdness in his dark eyes, glinting even now at the elder Beoulve's words.  
  
'Sir'? From you, my given name is fine, the older man smiled as Delita hurriedly nodded. Anyway, the mission is to go to Orbonne and bring Alma and Teta back.  
  
Ramza frowned, sheathing his sword in the scabbard at his side. His blond hair was unruly and tied into a tail, his face blotched red from the recent exercise. Just us? But what about the Death Knights?There has been no activity from them as of late, so it should be safe enough, Zalbag answered, privately marveling that his younger brother would have the same concerns he held, besides, you are both practically knights anyway, so it should not be such a difficult journey.  
  
The friends looked at each other for a long moment before Delita nodded. We will go.Good to hear, the commander replied. There will be chocobos waiting at the front entrance. It should not take more than a few days to reach Orbonne, he looked at his younger brother, who was oddly quiet. Any objections, Ramza?  
  
The bright-haired boy was startled out of his thoughts. None at all. We will go to the marketplace right now.  
  
Slightly concerned, Zalbag merely turned away, tossing a few words over his shoulder as he walked away, My sisters are important to me, so please take care of them.'Sisters', huh? Delita murmured long after the Hokuten commander had left.  
  
Well, naturally. Teta has always been like a sister to me.Hearing that from you is fine, but I never expected Zalbag to say anything like that. Ramza shrugged, and if Dycedarg had said it?  
  
Delita rolled his eyes at that, deadpanning, I never wanted to see the end of the world.  
  
The friends laughed at that as they entered the castle and headed into the marketplace. It was crowded and noisy, with only the loudest of merchants able to be heard over the din and therefore able to attract the most business. Without any spoken words, the true sign of a compatible and long-standing friendship, the two headed over to buy curative items and rations, skipping an entire area filled with gleaming weapons and sturdy shields. While Delita considered the amount and cost of the items, as he had a better head for analysis and numbers than Ramza could ever profess to, the blond scanned the area. It was dark, with light streaming in from only the thin slits carved high in the room to prevent flooding during the rainy seasons. There were many different sorts of people in the marketplace in the morning, and it had always interested the young Beoulve that there were so many different sorts of jobs in the world.  
  
There was a man nearby, a tall blond dressed in a casual tunic, pants and boots topped with a cape. Ramza felt he had seen this man before, and when the man turned his head slightly while talking to the merchant the young Beoulve was taken aback. It didn't help that Delita had finished his negotiations with the shopkeeper and casually tapped Ramza on the shoulder, startling the noble. What is it? Delita asked, curious.  
  
That man, there, Ramza inclined his head towards the tall man, who was starting to leave with a bag of supplies, he looks familiar. Strange, though...he has red eyes. The brunet watched the man turn away from them and leave, walking towards the entrance to the Murond hall. He looks like the man Zalbag was talking to a few days ago.  
  
The blond teenager's eyes widened. Now I remember. He would be one of the Four Pillars of the Shrine Knights, er...the Pillar of Morality? Delita grunted, losing interest. We should leave. The sooner we get to Orbonne, the sooner we can finally see our sisters again.True. What has it been, a year? Two years?A year and a quarter, because of the Death Knight attacks. We missed celebrating Teta's birthday.Should we bring our gifts with us, or leave them for later?Leave them, it--ow! Delita stumbled as a man rushed into him. This man turned around, holding up one of his hands in placation, as the other was occupied with a leather bag.  
  
Forgive me, I was not paying attention, the man said, concerned. His skin color was darker than Delita's and his hair style appeared foreign, with shaved sides and with the rest of his dark brown hair pulled into a tail just over the back of his skull. Delita nodded shortly and the man hesitated, but instead just nodded back and left.  
  
Are you okay? Ramza asked, glancing at the man's back and noticing a small imprint of a red lion on the back of his bright yellow mantle. Hm, he has Zeltennia's mark on him.  
  
Delita glanced back. He seems a lot nicer than most Zeltennians, then. Well, shall we go?

-0-

After running into Delita Hyral of Gallionne hall, the man with the yellow mantle learned his lesson and began slowly jogging through the marketplace. This consideration for the other people milling about the area was duly rewarded, as he reached the entrance to Zeltennia hall without further incidence. He made his way up several flights of stairs and walkways with a practiced familiarity, and as he reached his home he smiled, jiggling the bag he held as he opened the door. His dark eyes widened when he saw that there was already someone inside the rather spartan place. Father, I did not think you would be here at such an hour, the dark-skinned man commented as he closed the door.  
  
Ah, Orlan, the same could be said for you, Sir Cidolfas Orlandu, commander of the Nanten faction, said warmly from his seat at the table in the common room. He had been reading a book, but at his adopted son's arrival he placed it down and turned his attention to the younger man. How is your mother?She is more than fine, though she wishes I would visit more often, Orlan raised the leather bag he had been holding in his left hand, she wishes you the best, and has asked me to give this to you.  
  
The weathered Swordmaster glanced at the unobtrusive object, something like reluctance crossing his face. She is still not trying to pay me for taking you in, is she? It was a known fact that, while the good knight often liked to perform charitable works, he preferred for them not to be acknowledged too often. He had adopted Orlan Durai a little less than a decade ago, after the boy's father had died while under service to the Nanten, and the widowed mother was still trying to pay Cidolfas for his kindness despite her own meager pay as a shopkeeper.  
  
Orlan walked forward and deposited the bag onto the table. I made sure to check before I left, he sat down across from his father and smiled guilelessly, you would like it.  
  
His interest piqued, the Nanten commander took the bag into his capable hands and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Your mother has good taste, Cidolfas complimented, setting both items aside. And how is Zarghidas?The village is... the young man, a skilled astrologer who cared not for the castle's opulence, seemed to be searching for the appropriate words, well, it is as impoverished as the day I left.Ah. Duke Goltana has yet to address that, I see.Duke Goltana has yet to address a lot of things, Orlan muttered bitterly, urged on by the recent memory of his mother's struggling store and the village's faded look. When he looked up, he was greeted with his adopted father's stern face and realized he had gone too far in his criticism.  
  
The knight leaned back in his chair, something of a glare affixed to the man before him. Loyalty is the Orlandu way. Watch what you say.Forgive me, sir, Orlan looked down, properly chastised, it will not happen again.  
  
It was quiet in the room as both men took a deep breath and let go of the moment. Finally, Cidolfas broke the silence, saying, As to why I would be here at such a time, there has not been anything for me to do.What about the Death Knights?Dycedarg said that the Hokuten would take care of it. Orlan frowned slightly at this news. Surprising. The Hokuten tend not to take command of a situation that easily.  
  
His father laughed at this. In the days long before, Balbanes would eagerly take charge just to spite Vormav and I! But his sons are cautious and no one from the other halls is willing to challenge that.  
  
Smiling faintly, the astrologer closed his eyes. Not even you, Father?Heroes must rise out of their own wont, not from the wills of others, Cidolfas murmured. With Balbanes gone and Vormav distracted by his work, I am afraid that my time is coming to a close.  
  
Orlan looked at his adopted father then, surprised at those words. Cidolfas Orlandu was not the type to think of his own destiny, rather, he tried his hardest to substantiate the destinies of others. Duke Druksmald Goltana, the Nanten, even Orlan himself all benefited from the revered knight's steadfast loyalty and benevolence. To hear the words of an old, tired man coming from the renowned Thunder God Cid's mouth worried his adopted son.  
  
I was thinking of saving that bottle until the festival, Orlan said, standing up, but perhaps we should drink to our good fate now.

-0-

At the marketplace, Ramza Beoulve had noticed a man who he had later recalled to be one of the Four Pillars of the Shrine Knights. While there was a commander for Murond's military faction, the illustrious--if not distracted--Vormav Tingel, there were three other Pillars, supporting the ideals of the Glabados faith. Ramza had guessed that this particular Pillar was the Pillar of Morality, and he was right. Had he thought a bit more on that particular line, he surely would've recalled some bit of gossip that one of the Pillars was an avid hunter who spent much of his time around the grassy fields that surrounded the castle. Perhaps the young Beoulve would've then connected the gossip to the casually dressed man. He would've then been correct once again.  
  
Sir Beowulf Kadmus, the Pillar of Morality for the Shrine Knights, was indeed a hunter.  
  
The knight walked into the Murond section of the chocobo stables, discriminately examining each avian monster as he strode past the stables. Noticing a familiar figure at the corner of the room, he smiled and approached quickly. Good morning, Sir Izlude. Another punishment?  
  
Young Izlude Tingel, about to turn seventeen in a couple months' time, looked chagrined as he turned from feeding the chocobo to greet his superior. Good morning, Sir Kadmus. Father seems to have given up on me.  
  
Beowulf raised an eyebrow at this, already knowing what was at the heart of this pessimism. Did you not tell him about your eyesight?You know Father hates to hear excuses, Izlude was about to say more, but a small, white moogle flew up to him, hovering before his face until the young man handed it a few stalks of Gysahl Greens. The mystical creature zoomed away, holding out the greens with its tiny paws to a particularly ravenous looking red chocobo. Izlude grinned at this sight, pushing back his light brown hair from his forehead before noticing the older knight's blank expression. Well, it is just as Sir Wodring says: Even for the smallest tasks, use all that is under your command to use'.Ingenious. Wherever did you find the creature?It followed me home a few weeks ago.That sounds like a charm Sir Kletian would want for himself.Yes, but he would only use it on my sister.  
  
Beowulf paused at this oddly straightforward comment. Izlude was unarguably the kindest and most polite of all the knights in Murond; however, his inability to hide what he was thinking led to many incidents of awkwardness and once prompted a comment by Sir Rofel Wodring: Once again, young Izlude has shown us the true danger of misdirected honesty.  
  
The young man realized what he had just said and laughed nervously. Well, it is a good thing Melia is not here. She does not like to think about those sort of things.Where is your sister? Beowulf asked, mentally trying to decide between two different chocobos.  
  
Out to fetch someone to fix a series of doors throughout the hall. They seem to break at an alarming rate these days, the Night Blade took one glance at the other knight and turned back to his punishment. The chocobo in the second stable to the left of you is a patient one, good for hunting.  
  
The honored Shrine Knight smiled at the advice. He was known to be fairly indecisive about the less important things. Thank you, Sir Izlude, he replied sincerely, going over to the stable the young man had mentioned and prepping the chocobo there for the hunt.  
  
And outside the castle, the sun was still rising on what was just another simple day.

-End Chapter One-

I didn't realize it until now, but it is a very hard thing to plot out an epic' series, especially while writing another series at the same time. I'll do my best not to fail everyone, though!  
  
-For the most part, I plan on following the original Japanese take on the translations. Hence, Olan becomes Orlan, Holy Swordsman becomes Swordmaster (the translators actually switched the kanji around to get the former translation), and Knight Blade becomes Night Blade.  
  
-All ages are based on, or approximated from, the first chapter of the game.  
  
Reviewers!  
  
Hey, Hawk of Death, I'm glad you liked the prologue. I'll probably be calling on your knowledge for the next chapter. :)  
  
Yo, The Burning Misery. Er...I think you mean recreating the Lion War', not the Fifty Year War (that happened before FFT). While there will be a lot of events that I'll be recreating, many of them will stem from different reasons, or have different outcomes.  
As for the question of outside contacts...yes and no. You'll see.


	3. 2: Discovery

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)  
  
By Tenshi no Ai  
  
All French translations by Hawk of Death  
  
I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Two: Discovery

The late morning sun was soothingly warm against Beowulf's uncovered face as he rode out of the castle, his hair ruffled by the slight breeze despite the fact that it was slicked back. The chocobo Izlude had picked for him was indeed a good one, as the small bag of supplies he had tied around the bird's neck was barely jostled as the monster steadily galloped through the vast green plains that encompassed the area around the castle. It was a calm ride, and the knight quickly lapsed into the thoughts that had been bothering him as of late.  
  
_Is there not something more to life?_  
  
Everything had come easily to him all his life. Born of noble blood in a good-sized village to the southeast of the castle, his childhood was filled with the comforts and quality of life only enjoyed by those with such a parentage. As his family was fairly devout, it was a foregone conclusion that he would join the local knights under the Church. By the time he was twenty, he was a Holy Knight. When he turned twenty-five, the Church asked him to move to the castle and become a vaunted Temple Knight. At twenty-nine, he was granted the title of one of the holy Pillars of the Glabados Shrine Knights, as he was a man with strong moral courage and noble bearing.  
  
He was thirty-one now, and he wasn't sure what he could do from here.  
  
With his gloved hands upon the reins, he slowed the chocobo to a walk. Looking around, he saw that there weren't any monsters prowling around the area. That was fine with him. Lately he had taken up this sport of his youth, hoping to give his life some meaning, but to no avail. Not for the first time did he think of his friends back home and wondered if they had found that elusive meaning. They had seemed to, from the last he had heard of them.  
  
As Beowulf looked around some more, his eyes caught upon a strange area far off into the distance. Unlike the spring grasses, this place seemed to be of a darker tint, yet it wasn't a forest. Intrigued by this, the Shrine Knight urged the chocobo on, his white cape fluttering behind them as the bird gallantly ran forward. With the avian monster's youth and good health, they soon reached the outskirts of what now appeared to be a small grove flourishing in the middle of nowhere. Beowulf dismounted from the bird and led it forward, amazed by the sight. While the place was too small to be called a forest, it was densely packed with both sturdy and slender trees, their branches bent from the weight of their ripening fruits. Flowers the colors of apricot, lavender and periwinkle grew in abundance along the edges of the grove, making for a picturesque sight indeed.  
  
His eyes seeking more of what lay within this quintessential spring beauty, Beowulf approached the wood, deftly tying the reins to a low branch in order to let the bird feed without the chance that it would become so enamored with its surroundings that it would run off. He pressed on afterward, circling the grove and marveling at how everything within it was apparently growing without a nearby stream. As he did this, he could see that just after the bend there was a small alcove. He walked faster, curious to see what wonders lay inside the heart of this mystical wood. He was not disappointed when he passed the bend, though the alcove was nothing more than that. There was an apparently misplaced stone within it, the same sort that was used to build the castle.  
  
And, to Beowulf, upon that stone was the fairest flower the place had to offer.  
  
The woman lounging there was nothing short of exquisite, possessed of sepia-hued eyes that, even as they widened at the sight of this wandering knight, still seemed seductively dreamy. Long locks of gold poured down over her shoulders, two locks in particular framing her oval face before curving down and over her modest chest. The coloring of her face, neck and arms was fair, in direct contrast with the deep purple shift that cascaded down from her shoulders to her feet, the skirt of the shapeless gown slightly fuller than the rest. Upon her shoulders and falling to her forearms was a lime-green knitted shawl, an odd piece that strangely went well with the twilight dusk of her main piece of clothing. The knight could not tear his eyes away from this vision of loveliness and she, likewise, stared back with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.  
  
Finally, she tilted her head slightly and parted her coral-tinted lips, murmuring,   
  
Beowulf blinked as her velveteen voice reached his ears and his cheeks colored, though whether it was because of his own blatant staring or her casual greeting was unknown, even to himself. H-hello...I mean, good morning, milady, he corrected himself, trying to uphold some meager bit of chivalry and lack of familiarity. Then he noticed that this woman was now sitting upright on the stone block and he bowed his head in embarrassment. Forgive me, I seem to be bothering you--Why do you say that? Beowulf raised his head in surprise that she would talk out of turn. For the woman's part, she seemed as if she really wanted an answer to her question, continuing with, Did I say that?  
  
The idea descended upon the man that this might be a mystical creature of some sort, and that it might be in his best interests to keep on her good side, lest she change him into a monster. He had read a lot about such temperamental beings in his youth. No, you did not, milady, just a mere hello'. I only assumed such from the fact that you were lying down before I arrived, and now you are well out of rest, he said lightly, smiling as she hurriedly nodded at his words.  
  
Yes,what you say is true, she replied cheerfully. Then a stray thought seemed to arise, as her demeanor suddenly reverted back to the questioning girl from before. But, why would you assume? Certainly, it is good to form ideas based on the situation, but you were wrong when you said that you were bothering me, she frowned slightly. It seems to me that you could offend those who do not wish for your ideas to be forced upon them.  
  
The more he listened to this strange woman, the more Beowulf was unsure if she was really something to be feared. She seemed to be some extremely curious sprite ignorant of human tendencies, yet still reasonable and logical in her beliefs. Well, that...that is true, but I cannot help my thoughts, and consequently, my words, he answered slowly.  
  
I understand, she smiled, I am the same way. Though, it is a discomforting thing to have my intentions misread, you see.  
  
He smiled back. Well, I can certainly see that.May I ask another question?Of course.Why do you keep calling me Because...I have not heard your name?  
  
The woman laughed at this. I had not realized that! My name is Reis.  
  
Beowulf looked at this pretty and chatty woman and decided to test his hypothesis. May I ask for your family name as well, Lady Reis?Well, certainly, she answered, not understanding the intent of his question, it is Dular. he responded, slightly disappointed at being proven wrong. He rather liked the idea of the legends of bygone days actually being held as true. You must live quite the distance away, considering the emptiness of the fields surrounding this area, he commented. There was no reply from her, and when he glanced at her she seemed to be patiently waiting for him to say something. You have not said your name yet, Sir Knight. He gave her an odd look at this statement.  
  
It is Beowulf, Beowulf Kadmus, he debated on giving her his full title and decided against it. What was the worth of bragging to a woman about it? He didn't assume the title so that he could dishonor himself. But, how did you know that I was a knight?  
  
Reis thought on this question, shifting her body on the stone so that she was sitting more upright. You have an upright posture and adhere strictly to formalities. Your cape is pristine, which it would not be if you were a mere traveler. The way you carry yourself suggests that you are often in armor, so that every move you make out of it is magnified due to your exerting the same shift of weight as though you were still within it, she smiled demurely at his shocked expression. My father was a knight, you see. But, I may be assuming just a bit.  
  
That was when Beowulf figured that this Reis was no mystical creature. Fairies and nymphs were never sarcastic in the legends. ...You are correct, Lady Reis, and quite perceptive, he said after some time had passed.  
  
Would you like to sit down, Sir Beowulf? You seem uncomfortable.No, I...I should leave now... he trailed off when a slightly hurt look formed a shadow over the woman's normally bright features, ...but if you would be so gracious as to want to put up with me for a while, I would be most happy to accept your offer.  
  
Reis smiled happily in response, and something lightened in Beowulf's heart.

-0-

The cool air of the morning had burned off past the noontime hour, the springtime warmth descending upon the land just as the workers all over the country began to heed their stomach's call for nourishment. The various eateries in all the towns and the castle would be swamped with people taking a break, whether they were allowed to or not. Those traveling the countryside would stop and break out whatever meal they had packed beforehand, enjoying it as the slight breeze ruffled their hair and clothes.  
  
I cannot believe you forgot to pack any food, Delita grumbled as he watched his chocobo feed on the wild grasses. Ramza looked at his best friend, irritation blooming pink on his fair skin.  
  
I did not know it was just _my_ fault, the blond sniped back. His own chocobo was happily rooting through the soft earth, satiated by the fresh greens it easily found. The crunching noises of bone beaks snapping through these plants was the only sound as the two young men sat and glowered at each other. It was both of our faults, Ramza finally conceded.  
  
Delita sighed as his stomach rumbled, so audible that the chocobos paused momentarily from their feast to look around questioningly. Falling backwards onto the grass, he looked up into the vast sky. Which is the closer village, Gariland or Dorter? he asked, putting his arms behind his head, his red leather armor squeaking with the movement.  
  
Dorter is just a few hours away from Orbonne. Gariland is too much of a detour, Ramza said after a minute, unless you want to-- the brunet said quickly, smiling. Can you imagine what our sisters would say if they found out the reason why we would be late?  
  
Ramza laughed at this as he flopped backwards, mimicking his friend's comfortable position. Alma would say, Can you two not even take care of yourselves for a few days? You could have starved to death, and then what would become of us? Delita, that is exactly the sort of behavior that makes poor Teta worry so much!'  
  
At hearing his sister's name, Delita winced. Oh, God...your sister could make even a saint feel guilty.She has had a lot of practice at that with us... Ramza shook his head, his smile wistful. I wonder if her stay Orbonne has calmed her down any?I wonder how Teta has taken to it? Delita commented, freeing one of the hands behind his head and ripping out a few blades of grass from beside him. It was quite the surprise to us that she would have been accepted to such a duty.  
  
Turning his body to get a better look at his friend, there was a curious look on Ramza's face. Why do you say that? Teta is capable at magic, is she not?No, that is not what I meant, Delita turned away, not willing to offer an explanation. Such basic tactics of dodging the situation had never worked with Ramza, who persisted with, Then, what do you mean?  
  
There was a blank look upon the brunet's face as he kept his back to his friend. Finally, he sat up, keeping his face turned away while his features were kept perfectly impassive. It is...still strange for Teta and I to live in such a world of splendor, he stated. Just a few years before, we were nothing more than the children of common chocobo keepers. Now Teta is a cleric of the faith, and I'm eligible for service in the Hokuten... Delita stopped and shrugged. Well, it all seems strange, still.  
  
Ramza was not the type who was easily confused by another's words. However, he wasn't quite sure of the point to his best friend's words. Wait...so then, is it a problem?That is not what I said.You...you make it sound as if it were, the blond's dark eyes darkened further when something occurred to him. Are you uncomfortable with the castle?...Well, that is a part of it, Delita said, suddenly looking very uncomfortable with the topic at hand, it is just...things seemed...warmer, I suppose, when your father and mother were still around. Seeing just your brothers, and the other cadets...I am all too aware of my heritage and how I do not fit into the surroundings.  
  
Ramza grew solemn at the mention of his parents. With Father's death, Mother was certainly allowed to feel as if she herself no longer belonged there, he murmured, with her and Alma so far away, even I do not feel as if I belong there anymore.  
  
The friends looked at each other, connected by the underlying sympathy they held for each other as Ramza, the half-blood Beoulve who was not expected to amount to much, and Delita, the misplaced peasant who had been taken in under the late Balbanes Beoulve's wing. After this, Delita said, his tone friendly and warm once again, we should take a journey, you and I. Travel around Ivalice, visiting the villages and meeting the people. Maybe then we could find a place where we do not fit so oddly.  
  
Ramza smiled at this suggestion, sitting up in his excitement to say, We should definitely tell Mustadio this the next time he comes around to the castle. He would know the best way to travel Ivalice, considering how often he does it.  
  
Delita nodded at this, noticing for the first time that he held blades of grass in his gloved hands. He held out one hand to Ramza, cheerfully asking, Do you remember when your father showed us how to play the reed flute?  
  
With a smile and without a word, Ramza took some of the blades and put them to his lips, the high and buzzing noises emitted from the instrument' startling the chocobos and causing them to flap their small wings in surprise. The two laughed at the spectacle they caused, finally standing to calm down the birds before mounting them and continuing their journey.  
  
Somehow, their hunger had fled away a while ago.

-0-

There are old buildings, the sort with a pedigree and a look that is not of the place where they inhabit, usually attempting a grander scheme than the area would like. The grand castle was one such place that belonged to this category, for it was the legacy of those immigrants who were proud to name the country and themselves as being of Ivalice. Then there were the truly old buildings, those places that _were_ the land they stood on, and the very air around them whispered of the land's magic, of the grace of the fairies from before time was invented as they streaked through the rooms and entwining halls with wings that glittered with glamour, of the power of the ancient dragons as they gathered and spoke of concepts that could never be even glimpsed at by the human mind lest it be crushed by the weight of true knowledge. These were the buildings angels had descended to from their drifting clouds, for only such a place could bear the light and limitless beauty and still stand proudly afterward.  
  
Orbonne Monastery was one such place.  
  
It had existed at the coast of Ivalice's southern shore far before the immigrants had discovered the land, all worn gray stone and countless secrets even then. It was a holy place, Ajora Glabados had announced to the various and sundry holy men that accompanied him, and they agreed with him for it would be nothing short of foolish to disagree with such a truth. That good man had christened this dwelling of stone and magic_ La maison sacrée qui retient les secrets de Dieu , Monastère Orbonne_, or The sacred dwelling that holds God's secrets, Orbonne Monastery', for in a dream Ajora had been told by God that Orbonne' was the ancient and powerful word bestowed upon the place. Indeed, the monastery held many secrets, the most well-known one being how it was able to repel those it did not feel were worthy to step past its creaking outer doors. This was how the Glabados faith tested those members who wished to learn clerical magic, and those that could step into the blessed abbey were surely deserving to behold its other secrets.  
  
Even with such a wondrous legacy, Alma Beoulve couldn't wait until she was beyond Orbonne's cold walls once again. On that point, the same was true with Teta Hyral.  
  
Now that the weather was fair, they had taken to partaking of their studies outside, often setting themselves upon the higher stones of what was once a foreboding wall that surrounded the monastery. Under the blue skies they would share the knowledge within the dusty scriptures they took out of the bookrooms, scriptures that had never before seen the light of the sun. Simon Pen Rakshu, a bishop of the Glabados faith who had been charged with tending to the place decades ago, had allowed the girls the opportunity to do so whenever they wished, knowing that nothing was a better cure for the doldrums than fresh air.  
  
Teta, when do you think the Hokuten regiment will come for us? Alma asked while staring longingly to the north. If she squinted and tried really hard for it, she could just barely see the tops of the turrets of the castle. Adjusting the book on her lap, her fingers soon moved up to adjust the sweater she usually tied along her shoulders, or her fine, flaxen hair set behind her in a tail. She was a lively girl, bright and cheerful like the morning sun, and she held great promise in the arts of white magic.  
  
Well, it is hard to say for sure...there is still the danger of the lurking Death Knights... Teta murmured in her sweet, low voice. This was similarly the type of person she was, a mild, sedated sort of girl who kept her own counsel. She was to the moon as Alma was to the sun, reflecting the other girl's cheerful quality while never quite exhibiting her own, and for that the two girls were nearly inseparable. Otherwise, the darker girl would be more prone to solemnity; even now, as she watched Alma stare off into the distance, her own exquisite features were drawn in a subtle sadness.  
  
That is true, Alma sighed loudly. Brother Zalbag must have had trouble trying to completely eliminate them with the sort of winter that had fallen upon us.  
  
Merely blinking at the straightforward words as she was used to them by now, Teta smoothed out the skirt of her lavender dress as she considered her next words. I wonder how our brothers are doing, she commented, trying to bring a perk into her voice like Alma had taught her to, they would nearly be knights by now.  
  
A wicked grin spread across the younger girl's face. Delita, I would believe. Ramza is a more difficult case.What a thing to say! Teta exclaimed, surprised at her friend's comment. The blonde was usually her brother's truest supporter. Your own brother!  
  
Alma giggled at the shock expressed by her best friend. Ramza is like me, in that he has a talent at magic. However, with the sword, even I could give him a fair fight.I saw you wielding the lady knight's sword, the elder girl said in an accusing tone, Ramza would never look as if he were about to cut off his own arm.  
  
The blonde's eyes widened in playful indignation, as she cried out, It was my first time! If only I had beseeched Brother Dycedarg into letting me train as a cadet, we would not be having this sort of conversation at all.If such a thing had come true, we would not be conversing at all, Teta said softly.  
  
Sensing a sudden change in the mood, Alma reached over and held Teta's hands in-between her own, inwardly surprised at their coolness even with the warm weather. It is only in jest, Teta, the blonde smiled comfortingly, I would not abandon a friend, let alone my very best friend.  
  
The brunette looked away, a small smile gracing her lovely face. Your words are always so kind, she squeezed her friend's hands, I am sorry that I seem to always bring clouds over any conversation--  
  
Alma shook her head at this. It is only because you are missing Delita as much as I am missing my own brothers that you are so susceptible to melancholy.  
  
Something darkened within Teta's chestnut-colored eyes, yet she nodded at her friend's words. You are right, it will pass when I see my brother again, she echoed.  
  
Are we interrupting something?  
  
Alma and Teta turned, the former's face as alight in joy as the latter's was hesitant. Princess Ovelia, please come sit with us! And you as well, Lady Agrias!  
  
Ovelia Atkascha smiled and nodded at this invitation, her golden hair fluttering behind her as she moved to sit with the other girls. She was as pure a beauty as Teta was exotic, her clear blue eyes gentle and her skin lacking the effect of the sun's kiss. She walked with dignity up to the wall, setting herself upon one of the lower stones after a quick glance at her bodyguard, the indomitable Agrias Oaks. The woman made sure that she was always a few steps within reach of her charge, her solid boots and practical uniform of the Royal Holy Knights setting her apart from the younger, more casually-dressed girls. She stood next to the princess, dark brown eyes surveying the area with a hawk-like efficiency, her right hand never straying far from the silver hilt of her sword.  
  
So then Alma, Teta, how are you today? Ovelia asked. Though they all lived in the monastery, Ovelia often had a different schedule from the others. Her guardian, Lord Larg, had placed her here after her half-brother, King Omdolia, had died of illness years before. Due to her longer stay, she was a higher rank of cleric than the other two, despite the few months' age difference scattered between them.  
  
We are well, Princess, Alma quickly chirped, knowing that Teta was very shy in the presence of royalty, and how are you?  
  
Ovelia blinked in dismay. Please, at times like this, I prefer to be simply called she glanced up at Agrias, who was keeping half an ear in the conversation, is this alright with you, Agrias?Princess, whatever you wish to be called by your friends is fine with me, the woman said in the professional tone she was known for. Ovelia grinned at this answer before turning back to her friends.  
  
She says this, and yet after a year she still refuses to call me by my given name, the girls giggled at this while the lady knight tried her best not to roll her eyes. The routine was a sort of running joke, but Agrias had never liked being the aim of any jest.  
  
Alma glanced out into the distance once more, holding back a sigh. If only someone would come and take us away from this dreary place, she said, her fingers playing with the edges of the book on her lap.  
  
With a nod, Ovelia looked down, plucking an imaginary wrinkle out of her pristine white gown. The royal knights should be here soon, for my tenure here is over, but it has been such a long time since I have last seen home...I wonder what has changed of the place?Nothing much, I am sure of it, Agrias commented, the castle is steadfast in its traditions. For instance, there is a festival in the coming month for the summer equinox.That is true, is it not? It will be like a homecoming party...ah, how I miss it! Alma exclaimed, giving the direction of the castle an even more longing look.  
  
Ovelia was more calm about this, her eyes reflecting some of the sadness in her heart. Well, it certainly sounds wonderful. I am sure it will be a fun affair.  
  
Alma, used to these sort of hesitant answers from Teta, smiled cheerfully at the princess. It is like what I told Teta. Staying here for too long saps one's energy. Once you get past Orbonne's walls, you will instantly feel nothing but excitement at the idea of coming home!  
  
Doubtfully, Ovelia looked to Teta, but the older girl was too busy looking out into the distance with a pensive expression. She could understand the feelings behind such a sad face, despite Alma's continued optimism. I believe you, Alma, she said carefully, unwilling to contradict the younger girl's cheerful words, it is just that, having not been past these walls in years, I am worried by what lies beyond them.

-0-

In a small glen near Orbonne Monastery, two people sat on the slender branches of trees, the green of their uniforms helping to camouflage them from Agrias' careful watch. Though the lady knight could not see them, they could certainly see her and her charge.  
  
So, that is the princess. She's pretty, isn't she?They will be here soon.Zalbag's knights, or the royal escort?Whoever it is, they will not be expecting an ambush, I am sure of it.Hmph. Poor them.

-End to Chapter Two-

I'm starting something of a contest, a very informal one. All I want is a name for Izlude's moogle, and it must fill these criteria:  
  
-A feminine name (not just a female name, but feminine-sounding as well);  
-Something that sounds bright and cheerful;  
-I don't necessarily care about the culture behind the name, but I would prefer one with European descent so that it fits with the style of the story.  
  
It's not that important, though I'd like to have the choice finalized before the next chapter, which comes out 10/26.  
  
-Damn formatting. The floating' comma in the middle of the French part of the Orbonne quote is not a mistake, for if it weren't there, the text becomes chopped'.  
  
Reviewers!  
  
Yo, Hawk of Death. I'm happy that you're happy. :) Hm...I probably shouldn't say this, but it seems that many FFT ficcers prefer to only write about Ramza, an eligible girl for Ramza (so then we mostly get Agrias and rarely Meliadoul) and during/after the game' stories. Well, it's like that in all sizable fandoms, but...am I being too critical?  
Anyway, Zalbag rules.  
Ramza and Meliadoul are your favorite characters? Cool. Melly is awesome, and Ramza's one of the better heroes (if not one of the best FFT ones). Who else do you like?  
Thanks for your efforts with the translations, you're really lucky to be bilingual.  
Keep Kletian away from Meliadoul...? Heh, I'll try.  
  
Woo, The Burning Misery's long-long reviews! Honestly, I love em. Speaking of reviews, while it's always nice to have lots of reviews, I definitely prefer quality over quantity, so I'm very happy as is. To put it another way, WHW was a lot worse with feedback in the beginning, but it is to date my most favorite effort.  
Who does like Dycedarg, seriously? But, I'm sorry to say, he's needed for the plot.  
I like the pillar' ranking idea too. Somewhere in the game, it mentions the Beoulve family as the pillars of knighthood', which somehow turned into the titles of the top Shrine Knights that I have here.  
I'm really happy that there are people who like AUs (though, in your case I could tell how much you liked them as soon as I looked at your Favorite Stories...you have a lot of them, by the way). I do too, though I'm not really fond of fantasies. But, if the shoe fits...  
Although I'm being a hypocrite in saying this, you probably shouldn't write out two chaptered stories at the same time, especially if you're not used to the process and effort and such. Well, I wish you good luck in it, especially since it gets so much easier the more you work at it.  
  
Luna! Yo. Actually, aren't you writing a fantasy AU story...well, it has an awesome title, I remember that much, but it's for a fandom I don't know anything about. Tennis no Oujisama? Well, anyway, I'm really glad you like this story so far. The style is...it's strange and slightly overbearing to me, but it feels pretty and I like it.  
Character interactions is an easier thing to do than properly pacing the plot.  
Keep up with the stories if you really like them, but don't do it just for my sake, okay?


	4. 3: The Most Important Man in Ivalice

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)  
  
By Tenshi no Ai  
  
All French translations by Hawk of Death  
  
I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Three: The Most Important Man in Ivalice

You know, I honestly dislike having to travel all the way out to the middle of nowhere--So, you don't like living at the castle?--To the middle of nowhere just to look for you! Why do you refuse to just stay at the castle? It is a much nicer place to live, and I know that if anyone could appreciate its daily bustle, it would be you!Eh, that's fine every once in awhile, but my home's not so bad either.Mustadio, your skills are needed at the castle.Maybe so, Melly, but my dad needs me too.  
  
With the ivory castle shining before them, Meliadoul Tingel stopped her chocobo, the fiery-colored bird only hesitantly following her command. The woman was clad in casual riding clothes more suited for a man. The hood of the dark riding cloak she wore had fallen from her head, exposing her chin-length, dark brown hair. As she pulled the hood back into place, she aimed a dark look at her friend. It is Meliadoul. Me-li-a-doul. After all these years, can you at least try to get it right once?  
  
Mustadio Bunanza grinned as he procured an apple from the traveling bag slung over his left shoulder. He wore the work clothes of one who practically lived his life in Goug village's mines, and the pouches attached to the belts that settled along his hips were filled with all sorts of metal oddities made from the deposits of the mines. That's cause you tried to hit me when I called you   
  
She grunted at this. Only my brother can call me that. Did it ever occur to you to just call me by my full given name?Eh, no.You are an idiot.Suddenly, I don't feel like fixing your castle! Mustadio said cheerfully as he began to guide his chocobo back towards his home, but was very quickly halted when Meliadoul grabbed hold of his collar, nearly pulling the young man off of the avian monster.  
  
At his baleful glare, she smiled beatifically. Do not bother.You're a cruel woman, he pouted. Her smile grew wider.  
  
Thank you. Your opinions always did matter the most. She let him go and gestured to the impossibly white castle that lay before them. Shall we go?  
  
As the two leisurely rode towards the castle, the delicate breezes lifting Meliadoul's cloak as well as the tightly tied tail sticking out from behind Mustadio's head, the young man couldn't help but sigh when he noticed that the castle completely blocked his view of the expansive plains. It seemed to him that the castle had become a second home to him. That wasn't entirely a bad thing, considering the many friends he had made in the Ivalicians' ancestral home, but every time he left his home to come here, a powerful guilt gnawed inside him. As Meliadoul casually looked at him, he smiled widely, hiding his feelings behind a charming mask of mirth and mischievousness.  
  
_Pop should be doing these rounds, not me_, Mustadio told himself, _he's better at it. He's a natural at tinkering with things. Well, it's all he can do now, anyway._  
  
Despite his thoughts, the bright-haired tinkerer kept up his smile as they entered Murond's stables, where they dismounted from the domesticated monsters. As Meliadoul cheerfully talked to the stable manager, Mustadio leaned against the corner of one of the holds, ignoring the curious bird that kept trying to nip at him and instead watching the older woman. While looking at her, he couldn't help but relax a bit. She had been his first friend in the castle since he started making his own rounds here three years ago. It was her who, more often than not, agreed to make the six day ride from the castle to Goug village just to drag him back, as Murond's various doors and other mechanical implements had a nasty habit of breaking down faster than in the other halls. It had always irritated her to ride down, as she hated to miss her various practices and classes; as the daughter of the commander of the Shrine Knights, as well as a Divine Knight in her own right, she was obliged to vigorously keep at her studies. Even the day they had met she was studying, as he could still remember clearly...  
  
_He was lost. Utterly lost. His father knew how to get around the enormous castle with ease, but his knee had been bothering him again, and so Mustadio had been sent in his place. The Church had promised that there would be a guide waiting for the boy at Murond hall, but the hall itself was so huge that he suspected that the guide would never be able to find him.  
  
A young woman, clad in the requisite forest-green hood and dress of the Glabados sisterhood over sturdy golden armor, walked up to him, staring at him in a manner that made the apprentice mechanic raise an eyebrow. In his home region there were many rumors about an infamous female knight, and he couldn't help but wonder if this brunette was anything like the legendary knight was purported to be. Hi there. Something you want?  
  
The woman tilted her head, frowning slightly in puzzlement. Bonjour. Vous ête le fils de Maître Bunanza, n'est-ce pas? Je suis celle qui vais vous donner une visite du château.  
  
Mustadio could only stare back in a vague sort of befuddlement. He knew that the people of the castle were strange, but his father had never told him that they didn't even speak the same language! V-vous ne comprenez pas l'ancien Ivalicien? The woman shook her head once, the look on her face clearly showing that she felt that he was an idiot. I said, you are the son of Master Bunanza, correct? I will be the one giving you a tour of the castle.Well, okay, he said agreeably, still confused. So you can speak normally. Why didn't you do that from the first?  
  
The woman frowned again, thin eyebrows aimed towards the bridge of her nose. I -was- speaking Ivalician. I thought everyone knew ancient Ivalician. Why do you speak so crudely is what I cannot help but wonder.You know, combining words with a negative. Didn't'. First you do not even comprehend our shared language, and now this? Soon, there will be people cutting out vowels and substituting numbers for words, all thanks to the example you have set.  
  
Mustadio was getting an odd feeling from this woman. She sure -sounded- indignant and haughty, but her mahogany-colored eyes seemed to be twinkling in good humor. Well then, he grinned, let's let it. Sounds easier to handle, that's for sure.  
  
She laughed suddenly, startling him, and clapped her metal-clad hands together with a loud clanging noise. So then, you understand! Finally, someone with a good sense of humor! Only Sir Rofel seems to understand this as a good quality. She held out her hand, the smile on her face making her fairly plain features suddenly attractive. My name is Meliadoul Tingel.Nice to meet you, he replied in turn, reaching out his own hand and surprised when she didn't crush his hand with her metal grip. I'm Mustadio Bunanza.Stop staring.  
  
Mustadio jerked out of his memories, confronted by the lady knight's tiny smirk. Oh, sorry Melly, I was just thinking. So, what am I here to fix today?I do not quite know. I suppose someone has made a complete list, only to miss a thing or two and forcing me to retrieve you once again, she answered with a hint of weariness, leading them out of the stables and into Murond. If you do not want to live here, why not train someone here to take your place?Is anybody willing to? All anyone here cares about is the knighthood and swordplay skills, Mustadio responded, still somewhat mystified about the castle culture. Though he was friends with knights and cadets alike, he never claimed to understand why they clung so eagerly to the concepts of knighthood. It was pretty impressive to see the bright lights and pretty colors of the more flashy sword skills sparkle and shine, but they didn't seem to be terribly useful in real life.  
  
Meliadoul shook her head, knowing full well her friend's opinions. Maybe someone would be interested, but any announcement we could make would have to be postponed for a while. Lately, there have been odd developments abound.Oh, really? Like what?I do not quite know, but my father seems most...preoccupied these days, a look of concern creased her youthful face as she brought one hand to her chin. She shook it off once she noticed Mustadio's interested look. Well, it is none of my concern.  
  
He was about to respond when he noticed her stiffen. Looking ahead of them, he saw a blond knight heading towards them, dressed in the same sort of casual clothes that the Divine Knight herself was wearing. Before he could ask who this knight was, she had already bowed her head in the appropriate greeting used by those of a lower rank than who they were addressing. Sir Kadmus, good day.  
  
The knight nodded in return. Miss Tingel, it is good to see you have returned safely.Are you going hunting now, Sir Kadmus?...Yes, I am. The red-eyed knight nodded again, saying with a hint of finality, Good day to you.  
  
Meliadoul kept her head lowered until the man was far out of earshot. That is a strange thing, she murmured, more to herself than her companion, he usually goes to the stables via the market area...So, who was that guy? Mustadio wanted to know.  
  
One of the four Pillars of the Shrine Knights, she answered, then glanced over at her friend and found his confused look not to her liking at all. You do not know what I am talking about, do you? she ran a hand through her short locks before she suddenly headed towards one of the doors that dotted the exquisite hallway. Here, I will show you their importance. They entered the room, which was relatively bare save for the rich red carpet laid upon the stone floor and the wooden plaques along the walls. All the Pillars of the history of the Shrine Knights are honored in this room, for they exemplify traits that are honored among both the knights and the clergy, the lady knight gestured towards the plaques on the wall opposite of the doorway, and those markers over there label who the Pillars are at this time.  
  
Mustadio stepped forward, not because he was very interested in knowing, but rather because her tone compelled him to do so. One day you'll be up here, huh? he asked with a smile.  
  
...I would be the first woman to do so, if that were to happen, she stated before turning towards the door. I need to find the list for what repairs are needed, so please stay here in the meanwhile.Sure, Melly, the mechanic said absently, walking up to the wooden markers that Meliadoul had specifically motioned to. Hm, these are pretty plain things... Vormav Tingel, The Pillar of Strength and Holy Commander of the Murond Shrine Knights'. Hm, way too much unneeded capitalization there. Rofel Wodring, The Pillar of Knowledge'...hey, I know who he is. Beowulf Kadmus, The Pillar of Morality'...huh, weird thing to be a Pillar' of. Huh...a plain one...?That is where my name will be imprinted.  
  
A small grin appeared on Mustadio's face as he turned around to face this visitor. And here I thought they didn't just let anybody be this Pillar' thing, Kletian.  
  
The man named Kletian Drowa stood at the doorway of the room, a smirk on his face as he assessed the Goug native. He was clad in the golden armor typical of a Shrine Knight, though the gray surcoat he wore over it signified that he was no typical knight, but rather a magician of the highest command, the lofty Sorcerer. He was almost too young to hold such a title, no more than a quarter century in age. With his slicked back dark brown hair leaving some strategic strands of hair falling into his intense olive-green eyes, he was popular among the many female mages that studied in Murond.  
  
The smirk on the older man's face only grew wider at Mustadio's comment. It was due to the grace of God and Rofel's guidance that I was allowed such a position, he said humbly, though the smirk distracted from that greatly. It will be the same for Lady Tingel in a few years time, he added, walking up to the other man and gazing at his soon-to-be plaque with a more genuine smile.  
  
Last I checked, she wasn't a noble, the mechanic said good-naturedly. So, what are you the Pillar' of?  
  
Kletian's smile seemed to grow fonder at the question. I am The Pillar of Devotion'.O-oh really? Mustadio struggled not to comment, even going so far as to clench his hands into tight fists at his sides. But not even he could pass up such an opening. Yeah, I've heard about all those mages you've devoted your pilla--Those damn rumors, Kletian growled, his smile quickly forming into a snarl. Do they really think that Rofel would tolerate such behavior, especially from me?  
  
Placatingly, the blond raised his hands, suddenly realizing just how much of a sore spot it was for the mage to teased about such behavior. Sorry, I thought those rumors ended a long time ago.  
  
Usually the mage would not easily accept apologies, especially about a subject as irksome as this, but this time he merely shook his head in a weary manner. When I was nominated for the position, they flared up again. Rofel and Lady Tingel had quite the time in assuring the priests of my good standing.  
  
Mustadio would never understand castle politics, much less those of each hall. Not knowing exactly what to say, he just lowered his hands and shrugged helplessly. Well, at least you made it, right?  
  
Steady footsteps were the only warning the two men had before Meliadoul's voice broke through the conversation. Mustadio, I have the list. Sir Kletian, so nice to see you.  
  
Before Mustadio could even begin to turn around to greet his friend, Kletian had already spun around and was now greeting her respectfully. Lady Tingel, it is a relief to see that you have arrived home safely, he smiled charmingly.  
  
__And you wonder why those rumors started in the first place?_ Mustadio could not help but think as he witnessed the older man lay on the charm.  
  
Apparently, Meliadoul felt the same way. Sir Kletian, I know that the title is something of a private jest between yourself and Sir Rofel, so you do not have to address me in such a manner, she raised an eyebrow when Kletian adopted a look of innocence, It is not in mere jest, the Sorcerer replied, and Sir Rofel and myself are not the only ones of this hall that refer to you in such a manner. But, that is for another time. Lady Tingel, Mustadio, I take my leave, he inclined his head towards the lady knight before making his way out of the small room. They watched him leave, twin blank expressions on their faces.  
  
...Well, I suppose devotion' fits him pretty well, huh Melly?  
  
The only answer he received was a sigh and a slow shake of her head.

-0-

By the time Mustadio left Murond hall, dragging his feet along the plush scarlet rugs that lined the endless corridors, the sun was slowly desecending at the end of a long day. The tools of his trade played out an uncoordinated jingle within their pouches, an almost cheery tune if it weren't for the mixture of exhaustion and irritation playing along the young man's features. Usually his job was fairly routine, tightening the bolts that held the doors in their respective places and other such miscellaneous work. However, due to the unusually harsh winter that had befallen the country, he had not been able to fulfill his mundane duties since October of the last year. This led to a horrid amount of work; doors nearly falling off of their hinges, along with a few that already had and were just lying in the doorway. The priests and other passerby, instead of trying to fix the doors themselves, were content in walking over them. Meliadoul had helped, her unnatural strength more than welcome for holding up the solid oaken doors while Mustadio tightened the hinges. Once she spotted her brother she had left, citing a need to practice her swordplay.  
  
Mustadio was sure that he saw pure, unadulterated fear on her brother's face.  
  
Left to his own devices, he was forced to do all of the heavy work as well as the more delicate jobs simultaneously. Mustadio was no stranger to jobs that required strength, for he often worked in the drifts back in Goug, digging out materials to be used for all sorts of objects, but to fix and fix and endlessly fix all the hallways and the many, many floors of Murond was asking too much of him.  
  
Now he only tried to make it into Gallionne hall, hoping find his good friend Ramza Beoulve so that he could stay in the Beoulve quarters. Of course he could've asked Meliadoul for a room, but after his first stay in Murond introduced him to nights of odd, droning chanting echoing from the main chapel before daybreak, he quickly tried to find room and board in another hall on subsequent returns to the castle. A cold rush at the memory of the haunting chanting made goosebumps rise underneath his work shirt, causing him to shiver and drag himself out of Murond faster.  
  
After somehow managing to make it into Gallionne, he beat a determined path to the plush quarters of the Beoulve family. To Mustadio's knowledge, only Ramza and his best friend Delita Hyral ever seemed to occupy the area, as the elder Beoulve brothers seemed to live in their offices and their respective sisters were currently at Orbonne. Despite this, there were no lack of servants milling around. One such servant, a young and bountiful maid wearing clothes that were more splendid than those of the average village girl's, noticed the rather pathetic sight of Mustadio limply walking towards Ramza's room. Master Bunanza? she called, unsure of this sight before her.  
  
With a reflexive smile, Mustadio's head seemed to bobble in her direction. Hello, just here to see Ramza, that's all...Well, ah... the maid was at a loss for words, nervously running thin fingers through her auburn hair before finally saying, I am sorry, Master Bunanza, but Master Beoulve has not been here for some time now.Wha-a-a-t? I came here all the way from Murond and he's not here? Resigned to his ever-increasingly bad luck, he hung his head in despair. But he's al-ways here...Please forgive me for bearing bad news. He and Master Hyral departed on a mission three days before. I hear they are going to retrieve Lady Beoulve and Lady Hyral.I see... he responded. An idea flashed through his head, causing him to lift up his head, revealing eyes shining with hope. So, can I still stay here?  
  
The maid's shoulder's sank, her eyes filled with pity. I am afraid not. It is only on Master Ramza Beoulve's willingness to take responsibility that such a thing was allowed in the first place; these quarters are only for those of the Beoulve family and those adopted by them.  
  
Mustadio sighed; it was all he could do. Thanks anyway... he said as he began to leave, but the servant girl's next words only reinforced his belief that he was nothing more than God's plaything.  
  
By the way, there is a list of things for you to attend to, if you would be so kind...?

-0-

Mustadio Bunanza roamed the scarlet-and-gold-drenched halls of Zeltennia hall, miserable, tired, and still clinging to some faraway hope that he would be able to find a warm bed elsewhere from Murond. The covered candle holders along the walls provided enough light in the barren corridor, the flames flickering and creating shadows that played along the edges of his vision. It wasn't terribly dark, yet something about the shadows touched upon a fear the young man held about the night.  
  
--_Ajora est bon, Ajora est gentil, Dieu nous souris, les êtres choisis d'Ajora...Ajora est bon..._--  
  
He could hear them, chanting, chanting, endlessly chanting while the darkness still curled around him. Their voices were faint, and yet he could hear them, forever repeating the same thing over and over until he felt that something dark had entered his mind, his soul.  
  
--_Ajora est bon, Ajora est gentil, Dieu nous souris, les êtres choisis d'Ajora...Ajora est bon..._--  
  
Once the maggots have laid their eggs, their larvae would be certain never to leave, only burrowing deeper into the core.  
  
--_Ajora est bon, Ajora est gentil, Dieu nous souris, les êtres choisis d'Ajora...Ajora est bon..._--  
  
Excuse me, but are you alright?  
  
Mustadio screamed and jumped away from the hand that had softly touched his shoulder, his mind so entrenched as it was with this deep-seated fear. The disembodied voices were scary enough without the idea that they could possess solid limbs under the cloak of the night. But when he turned around to face what could be his fear with a face--or otherwise--the only being there was was a man with darker skin than the norm and a strange hairstyle. Who...who're you? he breathed out unsteadily, unsure if he should lower his guard or not.  
  
I...I mean you no harm, good sir. My name is Orlan Durai, of Zeltennia.  
  
At this, the mechanic completely relaxed. Oh, sorry. I, uh, was just thinking about an experience I had in Murond, he shuddered at his own mention of it and resolved to never think about it again. My name's Mustadio Bunanza, from Goug village.  
  
Orlan appeared to recognize the name, something Mustadio was very used to seeing by now. I see. You are Besrodio Bunanza's son, the one who has taken over his job here.Part time, Mustadio muttered before inexplicably cheering up. Say, you wouldn't happen to know if there's a spare room I can stay in for the night...?Well, of course, the native of the hall said with a shrug, a small smile on his face. In fact, it is nothing short of good luck that I was able to find you. You see, there are some things that need to be fixed...  
  
Mustadio held up his hands, something of desperation crossing his face. Heh...how about I do it tomorrow...?

-0-

--twck--  
  
Mustadio did not stir from his borrowed bed, engrossed as he was in discovering the many pleasures of the dream world. The room that Orlan had shown him was small and in the servants' quarters of Zeltennia, just as comfortable as any other room in the castle. Its single flaw was a sizable slit in the walls, someone's attempt in the centuries past to make the room unique by giving it a scenic view of the vast plains.  
  
--twck--  
  
Now the young man stirred, shifting and burrowing deep within the scratchy blankets made from behemoth manes. Still, he slept.  
  
--twck--  
  
Pop, wha'...stoppit, he mumbled grouchily.  
  
--twck--  
  
The villager opened his eyes, momentarily startled by the wrongness of his surroundings before he realized that he wasn't at home. He yawned and stretched, wondering if the peculiar noise he had heard--  
  
--twck--  
  
_Ah, so it wasn't some weird dream thing_, he mused. The moonlight flowed into the room via the window', lighting up the room considerably. He got out of bed, wincing at the feeling of the cold stone beneath his bare feet, and walked over to the window, peering curiously out of the slit. He had fine senses, especially his sight, and he could make out a figure that stood below his vantage point, aiming something at an object that glowed white in the moonlight. Something flew out of this other something, embedding itself into the white object with a sound that he was becoming very familiar with.  
  
Hey, you, Mustadio called, noticing the figure spin around at the sound of his voice, it's late. Can you do your target practice in the morning?  
  
The figure, now having spotted the young man in the room, waved the object menacingly at him. Silence, servant, you have no right to talk so familiarly to a noble such as I! What I do concerns you not!  
  
Mustadio raised an eyebrow at this. The voice was masculine, the tone haughty. He'd never gotten along with people that only put their worth in the status they had been born into. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, I don't care who you are, I'm trying to sleep!To say such a thing... the noble barked indignantly. Knavish fool! To say such a thing while staying in the servants' den...you must be a sympathizer of the Death Knights!  
  
Such a comment was not necessarily an insult to the tinkerer. Though he worked in the castle occasionally, there were always small tensions between the villagers and those that lived in the castle. As far as he knew, the Death Knights had been born out of the desire to force the castle to understand the complaints the villages held in regards to the unbalanced treatment. While he was no true follower of the group, especially considering the travesty they had become, he could understand and admit that he thought their original cause noble. However, he was tired and had already realized that the man below his window would probably not care for a discussion on the matter.  
  
He shook his head and returned to bed. The man ranted at him for a while before the sounds of before started again. Before falling into a dreamless haze, Mustadio decided he would take Meliadoul up on her idea of training new workers to take his place.  
  
The allure of the ivory castle had disappeared a long time ago for him.

-End to Chapter Three-

First of all, there will be no updates for this series in November. Please go to my bio to find out why.  
  
Let's see...if anyone else has a suggestion for the name of Izlude's moogle, I'm still taking names until...well, until Izlude shows up again.  
  
-A really pendatic translation adjustment: Mustadio calls his father oyaji' in the original. Every time I've seen it translated, it's in a more slangy form than the more formal father', which the game goes by. An example of its usual connotation would be in FFX, where Tidus abuses my old man', which is a common translation of oyaji'.  
  
-The chanting that haunts Mustadio's soul directly translates to Ajora is good, Ajora is kind, God smiles down upon us, Ajora's chosen ones...Ajora is good...'  
  
Reviewers!  
  
Ello, Hawk of Death! I think that most people prefer Ramza and Delita as their Chapter 1 selves, because afterward Delita really gets messed up. Teta was cool too, even though she was only really talking in one cutscene before she got kidnapped.  
Oh, really? I don't think I'll ask who you think the hiding duo are...but I'm curious. :(  
Ah, you have good taste in characters! I'm more fond of Miluda than Wiegraf, but otherwise I like your list. I don't know why I like Rofel either...  
  
Yo, Luna. Thanks for your list of names! Several of them are real contenders.  
I should really try to force myself away from the Reis/Beowulf pairing...I'd hate for people to think that many of my works are the same!  
Ehehe...well, let's just see how Ramza and Delita's friendship evolves over the course of this first arc (which I'll cleverly name The Death Knight Danger arc' or something equally boring).  
Spiritual Insinuation. Wow, that just sounds awesome. Too bad you're having your problems with the flow of the story. Well, I think that one of the hardest things in writing is knowing what to put in and what to leave out, even if we ourselves really like what we should be leaving out.  
  
Hey, The Burning Misery! Yeah, I could have realized that you liked AU stories from your progress list...but I didn't. I'm not very observant. Though I couldn't care less for elves and such, I like dragons. Hell, I just like monsters.  
Thank you for your comments! Where are Rad and Gafgarion, you ask? Um, not here yet. Well, your plot related questions, particularly those that have to do with the connection to the game, can generally be answered by realizing how close or far I'm following the game. By the end of this arc we'll all have a better idea about it.  
I wish you good luck on your fic endeavors because...well, that's really all I can do, seeing how I don't read FFVII fics.


	5. 4: Dead Knights I

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Four: Dead Knights I (part the humiliation)

Dorter was a jewel of a town--no mere village was this one--that sat comfortably along the southern coast of Ivalice. Less than an hour away was the venerated Orbonne Monastery; as such, the town was very well known to those priests from Murond who wanted to visit the hallowed abbey. The town prospered because of this, for no resting point of those holy men should be a tiny dirt clod in the splendor that was Ivalice! Cobblestone walkways led to the many fine eateries and shops the place had to offer, and a good-sized church--the true indicator of the wealth of any habitable area--stood at the northern end of the town. Due to Dorter's size, there were two sections of the town layout solely for houses; the nobles lived in the west end, the commoners in the east. There was some contention between the two sections because of the construed and sometimes imagined problems, usually over some petty zoning issue or another than wouldn't affect most of the other villages for decades to come. There was one such issue that had been nagging at the nobles for some time now, but it was a case they knew to keep their collective mouths closed about.

After all, if Lady Sarai Beoulve wanted to live in the..._east end_...then may the Lord protect her.

The widow lived in a cozy, plain house near a strip of culinary-based shops. In its own way, her house was a shop with one buyable commodity: the good lady's formidable healing abilities. She was a well known white mage during her youth, though she was not affiliated with the Glabados Order. Her absence from her home town during her marriage had been deeply felt, and though the townspeople could not, in good faith, celebrate why she had returned to them, they appreciated that she had even returned at all. Many of the nobles of Dorter believed that she should've stayed at the castle, in order to prove her worth as the second wife of the late Balbanes Beoulve, for there was controversy in the reason why such an esteemed man would've picked a woman of her humble background.

None of that mattered to Sarai herself. A friendly, pretty woman renowned for her good cheer, she was unusually close-lipped as to the exact reason she had left the castle. Considering that she was still in the mourning stage, even though more than a year had passed since she was made a widow, no one was willing to pry too deeply either. She at least had reasons to keep going, no matter where she was, and one of them was sitting before her at the present moment.

"Mother, thank you for breakfast. You did not have to prepare so much, though..." said Ramza, who was desperately trying not to lean back in his chair after such a satisfying feast. That would be considered slovenly, disrespectful behavior back at the castle, even though his mother hardly cared.

Sarai merely smiled as she took a sip of her patented raspberry tea. "After hearing about your and Delita's desperate struggle through the wilderness to get here, it was the least your mother could do." She aimed her smile at Delita, who was scooping up the last of the meal into his mouth. "Delita, do you not think that this would be a mother's wish, to make sure that her children are not terribly traumatized by their mistakes?"

Hurriedly swallowing, the brunet nodded, saying, "Ramza was the one who forgot the rations, at any rate."

"It was both of our faults!" Ramza retorted, indignant at his friend's selective memory. He turned to his mother, saying in a more subdued tone, "Anyway, if it were not for the fact that I had remembered your lessons on the appropriate herbage to eat, we would not have gotten to Dorter with both chocobos intact."

"I am happy to hear that," she smiled widely, an evolved form of her daughter's sunny grin. Alma resembled her mother, particularly with how her smiles could transform her girlishly pretty features into something resembling pure beauty, but Sarai's hair was the same golden hue as Ramza's. In this way mother and children were connected, for Sarai looked too young to appropriately be the elder Beoulve siblings' mother, especially since she was just a few years older than Dycedarg. "Particularly since you had never been inclined to such mundane interests. You always used to say, 'I want to be a great hero, like Father!'" she giggled while her son blushed and Delita smiled.

"Well, I..." Ramza stared at his plate, then smiled and said, "I suppose it was a little funny, looking at it now..."

"Not at all! I am proud to have such ambitious children," Sarai grinned. "And look, Zalbag trusts you two enough to go to Orbonne alone. Considering how he worries, this is a splendid portent."

Ramza's smile faltered at his mother's words as he remembered his own initial feelings on the mission he was currently on. Out loud he said, "Zalbag has always been open to letting a person prove their worth," but inside he worried. He had not told a lie; the second Beoulve sibling was fairly open-minded. But, Zalbag would've at least had the forethought to send a few soldiers with them, just in case...

Next to the fretting young man, Delita narrowed his eyes as he watched Ramza go into deep thought. It was unusual for the blond to do this in anyone's company, let alone while with the mother the young Beoulve was separated from. Tilting his head towards Ramza, he whispered, "Are you okay?"

Ramza shook his head once before he sheepishly grinned. "Sorry," he whispered back before standing from his seat and addressing his mother with, "I'm sorry Mother, but Delita and I really should be on our way. Thank you for breakfast."

"Oh...of course," Sarai replied, her words tinged with disappointment. "Well, if you are able, please bring Alma and Teta here. The priests in Orbonne were most adamant that no one could visit the acolytes, not even a relative," she ended, her face betraying the annoyance she had felt.

"I am sure that Teta would love to. She has always thought fondly of you," Delita said, inwardly pleased when the woman's eyes lightened at his words. After the death of their parents and their subsequent arrival at the castle, the Hyral siblings were treated like the natural children of Lady Beoulve. Because of this unbiased kindness, it was so easy to become close friends with her true children, especially considering the reaction from the other families of Gallionne.

"Teta is such a dear," Sarai murmured before turning to her son. "Ramza, you would do well to obtain two more chocobos from the renting stables. Just mention my name and the fee will be waived, I assure you."

Ramza nodded. "Thank you, Mother," he responded. "We will try to come by in time for dinner."

The widow watched as her son and his best friend left her small house, a small smile on her face as she waved goodbye. The smile left the same time they had, leaving behind a woman with worry etched on her face. Quietly she locked the door, hoping that no one would come by in need of healing, and returned to her small kitchen to pour another cup of tea. She took a sip and frowned at the dishes still left on her dining table. The boys had eaten well, their plates wiped clean in their hunger. They had been ravenous when they had arrived at her house earlier that morning, but that hadn't worried her.

"Zalbag," she whispered, "you are not usually this reckless. You, of all people, should know what has been happening down here..."

-0-

The ride to Orbonne Monastery was quick, punctuated by a lack of conversation between the friends. Only the sounds of their chocobos--now four in number--as they steadily walked the distance between Dorter and the mystical abbey was heard at all. Yet, the silence was not uncomfortable. The two young men had talked and squabbled, conversed and sympathized almost constantly since they had left the castle; surely if there was going to be any quiet between them it would be now, just before they saw their sisters again and the endless babble would bubble up once more.

Bits of gray could be seen past a small grove, the trees seemingly shielding much of the monastery. It seemed that, as soon as the cadets glimpsed the place, they were right in front of it, blinking at how much grander it seemed when they could admire it up close. Although it was odd to both friends that they could come up to the place so quickly when just a moment ago it seemed as though a dark dot on the horizon, they did not vocalize their confusion. With a place like Orbonne, it was best to accept their good fortune and move on.

The doors into the monastery proper creaked open and a man, dressed in the elaborate robes of a priest with high rank, walked up to the stone steps that separated him from the cadets and peered down at them. "Please state your business," he requested in an unusually soft voice. That, matched with a face touched with gentle femininity, served to confuse his gender, though his crisp blond hair was very short.

"Uh...we have come here to take Alma Beoulve and Teta Hyral back to the castle," Ramza said. The priest bowed at this.

"Very well. Please remain here in the meanwhile." With those words, he entered the abbey, shutting the door before either of the young men could glimpse at the secrets held inside.

Delita turned to Ramza as they walked up the stairs, his expression contrite. "Maybe we should have brought Teta her birthday presents after all."

"Why do you say that?"

"I...well, it does not seem right to be empty-handed at a moment like this."

Ramza merely smiled. There was not a brother so devoted to his younger sibling than Delita.

"Brother Ramza?"

He turned his attention from Delita back to the door, where his younger sister now stood with wide eyes and hands covering her open mouth. Though not a delicate beauty, when she began to smile it seemed as though the sun itself was beaming in pure joy. Over a year had passed by, and yet neither of them could detect any changes about the other that showed that the full scope of seasons had really passed. All Ramza could do was reflect the cheerful smile his sister had, and with the similarity beheld in their faces it appeared as though they were both looking at a mirror.

A squeal broke through the moment, and the Beoulve siblings looked over the same instant Teta flung herself into her brother's arms, her laughter muffled against his chest as he picked her up and whirled her around in a dazed arc. There was not a trace of gloominess in her features, only a desperate sort of happiness that seemed brighter than even Alma's natural smile. This dazzling wonder touched off something in the others, and soon they were huddled in a small group, happily chattering as if they had never been separated.

A hesitant step towards them was their only warning before a voice broke through their festivities. "E-excuse me..."

Everyone turned towards the door, and the smiles that seemed to be permanent fixtures on Ramza and Delita's faces immediately dropped in favor for expressions of near awe. They did not know who the beautiful girl at the entrance to the monastery was, only that she, with her golden hair falling over the shoulders of her white gown, was unlike any creature they had ever seen in their lives. A woman, easily older than the rest of them, moved so that she was in front of this wondrous sight. Ramza could've sworn that he heard Delita sigh in disappointment at this.

"Excuse me," the woman in the uniform of one of the royal knights asked with a measure of cordiality, "are you two the scouts for the royal delegation?"

"N-no, Lady Agrias, these are our brothers," Alma corrected. Behind her, a look was shared between the young men. 'Royal delegation?' they seemed to ask each other.

A look of annoyance crossed the lady knight's face like a flash of dark lightning. "Is that so? I see," she murmured. Her dark eyes flashed over each individual in front of her until they settled upon a confused looking Ramza. "Then, you are Ramza Beoulve, correct? Would you happen to know if either of your brothers have said anything about the deployment of royal knights to this place?"

Ramza did not normally like being singled out for anything, especially when it came to his brothers. He had dealt with enough of that over the years. "No, there was no talk of that. Only Delita and I have been deployed, and that is on behalf of the Hokuten," he answered, not liking the dark look in the woman's eyes. He dared not ask her why, not with that look.

"One last question. How is it that only two cadets have been deployed, at a time when the Death Knights have known to be active?"

All of the doubts Ramza held about the safety of the mission caused him to stay his tongue. Delita noticed this and covered the question, saying, "It was revealed to us by Sir Zalbag Beoulve that the Death Knights are not active at this time."

The woman and her charge looked taken aback at the news. "If that is so, then why has the escort not arrived yet...?" the girl in white asked, her voice soft and her brows creased as she came forward and stood by the knight.

"I do not mean to pry," Ramza started, "but what is all this talk of a royal escort?"

The girl looked startled by the question, then her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Forgive my lack of manners," she said, chagrinned by her rudeness, "I am Princess Ovelia Atkascha, and this," she gestured to the woman beside her, "is Lady Agrias Oaks, my bodyguard."

Practically stumbling over themselves in their haste, Ramza and Delita knelt, their heads bowed in the respectful manner demanded by the rules of chivalry regarding the royal family. Alma and Teta looked at each other over their brothers' prostrate bodies, then over at the princess and her guard. There was something sad reflecting in Ovelia's eyes before she bowed her head. "Please stand," she beseeched of them, "I wish to ask a favor of you."

Ramza rose first, his eyes gentle as he smiled at her. "Princess, we would be more than honored to fulfill any request you would entrust upon us."

"Thank you," Ovelia nodded. "I would like to travel with you to the castle."

The reaction was immediate, as shared looks of worry were passed around like ale at a holiday feast. "It...it is not in my place to say this," Delita started, a measure of anxiety along his normally calm features, "but would it not be more prudent to, ah, wait for the royal escort to arrive?"

Ovelia's eyes were soft as she looked at the man who had questioned her. "That may be so, but I have already been here for such a long time, and I would not want to worry Father Simon any further," she responded, adding, "Since you have reported that the Death Knights are no longer a worry of at least the Hokuten commander, then it should be alright."

"Princess..." Agrias started from her position beside the girl, but Ovelia merely shook her head.

"Agrias, please get everything prepared for our departure. I will tell Father Simon myself." At this order, the Holy Knight bowed her head and stepped back, waiting for the girl to enter the monastery before departing from her charge. The golden-haired princess paused before doing so, however, in favor of holding her gaze with the group before her. "Forgive my rudeness," she implored of them, "but it is of dire importance that I return to the castle."

Ramza nodded, replying with, "We understand. We will endeavor to make sure you are safely returned to your home." With that said, the princess departed, her loyal guard following closely behind.

"That is a surprise," Alma sighed, "I did not think she wanted to return that badly." Ramza looked at his sister.

"Should you not be getting ready to leave? With this development, we have less time to stand around at leisure than usual, and I know how slow you are with packing."

"Such harsh words, brother! Come along Teta, we cannot afford to talk of the old days so long as our brothers are fixated on the princess," Alma cattily announced, linking an arm with her friend's and entering Orbonne. The heavy doors slammed behind them, leaving two confused young men to stand before them with blank faces.

"What have we gotten ourselves into this time?" Delita asked to no one in particular. Ramza shook his head, annoyed at his sister's implications, before a realization struck him.

"We now have six people currently in our party, and four chocobos, so..."

-0-

It was afternoon when the group left Orbonne Monastery, and while the sun was shining with its usual spring warmth, the wind was still, an oddity on an Ivalician day. The wind was always present, breezy or gusty, disturbing the wooden wind chimes hanging outside the village houses and bearing multi-colored petals plucked from the flowers and trees. The more superstitious Ivalicians were apt to stay indoors when the winds ceased to blow, claiming that dire things would occur on such a day. Whether it was they who created the name describing such days, or if it was really a satirical comment towards such people was unknown, but either way the windless days were known as the 'dead days'.

They who made up the group now heading towards Dorter did not collectively know of such a phenomenon save for two; it was quite a minor thing for even the villagers in this age. Delita might've even forgotten he even knew of such a thing at the current moment, as he was mentally grumbling while walking beside the chocobo his sister rode. In his arms was her small, battered valise; slung along his back was his sword, which had been earlier tied to his bird so that he could identify that it came from the castle and not from Dorter. Chocobo farms were notorious for trying to swindle the birds from the castle in a variety of ways, as it was easier than breeding the creatures. But, he had reasoned, the fact that Teta now rode it was proof enough, just as in the case of Ramza's own chocobo, which had been taken over by Alma. She had insisted on carrying her own luggage though, to the irritation of the poor bird. Ramza walked beside her, talking to her in low tones about their mother and how she would not be expecting so many guests, especially ones of royal personage. Said royal personage was riding between Teta and Alma, her face blank as she stared in front of her, where Agrias' braid moved from side to side in an almost hypnotic sway.

No, Delita couldn't have possibly remembered the stories from his youth, much less an obscure myth about wind and Ivalice. His best friend didn't know of such a legend, for Ramza's mother was more interested in holistic cures than the stories old men would tell while smoking their pipes on the porch. Ditto for Alma, and twice as much for Ovelia, who could've never found a person crass enough to recount such a thing to her. Agrias was from a noble family within the Gallionne hall, and what did the comfortable castle-dwellers really know about the land and the stories told about it? That left Teta, she of the reflection that was never quite right from the original, she of the calm, almost gloomy disposition. Of course Teta knew, as she had been so very quiet since the princess interrupted her reunion with her brother. She had been reviewing the stories her dearly departed papa had told when the winds were blustery and the whole family was trapped inside for the harsh winter. She would sit on his lap, her brother huddled against their father, and as the flames crackled on the hearth he would tell them why they should be thankful for the wind that rattled their windows, for it could be worse. It could always be worse.

It was no wonder that, with such a warning already in mind, she was able to see the group of Death Knights first.

Both Delita and Agrias heard her first gasp, when she had just spotted the group to the northwest of her position. Everyone heard her second gasp, which was more like a strangled scream than a sudden inhalation, causing them to look around in confusion. When they noticed the Death Knights, who were now rapidly approaching them, they began to panic. It took a shout of, "Get off of your chocobos! They may have archers!" from Agrias for everyone to snap to attention. The girls quickly dismounted while keeping to a modicum of feminine modesty, while the lady knight simply jumped down from her own steed. "Have the chocobos circle the princess and your sisters!" she snapped at the Hokuten cadets, who rushed to attention. Ramza took this time to retrieve his own sword from the bird his sister had been on, all his suspicions and worries blooming like a migraine as he unsheathed the gleaming weapon. He and Delita quickly raced to their leader-by-proxy's side, ignoring their sisters' cries.

Just as they flanked her, the Death Knights reached them. They were all men, clad in various shades of green, and many of them resembled hard-nosed mercenaries rather than the desperate villagers of local legend. At the forefront of the group, around ten in number, was a young man who looked around seventeen or eighteen. Though he was also in green, he was wearing the familiar squire outfit of the land. Light brown hair poked out of his green cap and over his eyes, giving him a youthful look that was out of place among the grizzly, weather-beaten men standing behind him. "We don't wish for this to come down to a fight. Just hand over the princess and we'll leave the rest of you alone," he said in a polite tone, his dark eyes aimed at Agrias and her harsh glare.

"Who are you to demand such a thing?" she retorted.

"One of the assistants to the leader of the Death Knights," the young man responded, smiling as he unsheathed his sword. "Do you refuse to comply?" Agrias' only response was to unsheathe her own sword, the look in her eyes revealing that the time for talk was now over. "I see," he commented, one of his hands glowing orange as he held the hilt of his sword. In a lightning-quick movement, he flung a low-level fire spell directly at her face, and as she dodged the spell he pointed his sword at the rest of them, screaming, "Kill them all!"

The Death Knights raged forward, war cries spilling from their lips as they raised their swords and prepared to cleave through all who stood in their way. It took one well placed Stasis Sword skill from Agrias to literally stop the momentum of some of the attackers, and by then Ramza and Delita had already rushed forward, dispatching one green clad man who had been distracted by the sudden flash of ice blue that had frozen so many of his comrades in place. The two cadets did not dare to stray far from the chocobos that were protecting their sisters, opting instead on a two pronged attack on anyone who dared pass through the line of defense that the Holy Knight was providing with her sword skills.

It was a rather different scene with the girls enclosed within the chocobo huddle. Frightened and regulated into doing no more than to watch the fight as it raged on, at times dangerously close to overtaking them, they clung to each other and prayed fervently. It was Alma, who had witnessed her elder brothers in the midst of battle at tournaments throughout the years, who swallowed down her fear and stood up first. Amid the pleas of her friends, the screams from the battle, she raised her hands to God, her eyes fixed upon the figure of her dear brother as he ducked and spun, weaving through the madness that was the battlefield. Her body took on a faint, visible aura of pale gold as an inarticulate cry burst from deep within her throat, thrusting out her arms in an earnest attempt to ground herself as beams spiraled from her glow towards Ramza. He froze as the magic entered him, and soon his mild surprise was accentuated by the magic, causing his breathing to be accelerated as the haste thread woven into the overall fabric of the spell Alma had called empowered him. He cast a glance at the chocobo barrier, awed as the thought of looking had compelled the action before he had began to consciously move.

"What are you waiting for?" Alma cried, her expression cross. "Keep fighting!"

When he turned around, unanswered questions lurking in his dark eyes as he committed himself to the battle once more, she collapsed. Two pairs of arms reached out for her, holding her body to theirs as she trembled at the aftershock of casting such a high leveled spell. Ovelia spoke first, her voice low as she stroked one of Alma's twitching hands. "That was the Magic Barrier spell, was it not?"

"Y-y-yes..." the younger girl stuttered, her lips moving involuntarily. Teta, who was holding her best friend's head on her lap, quietly shushed the girl as she smoothed out the bangs that had fallen into disarray. Alma giggled deliriously, her body slackening as the initial shock of the immense loss of her own mana gave way to exhaustion.

"I cannot believe she did that. I would not have thought that Father Simon would have taught her such a spell yet..." Ovelia murmured, "If I could only see Agrias through the birds and the battle, I would do the same thing." There was no reply from Teta, and the princess decided to keep her thoughts to herself. The dark-skinned girl did not seem to tolerate her very much, judging from her near absolute silence in her presence.

Ovelia thought she was right to think that way until she heard Teta scream.

-0-

Delita was a decent fighter, though his true ability seemed to be more cerebral in nature. He was good at reading an opponent's moves and revising his own strategy accordingly. With Ramza now charged up from the spell Alma had endowed upon him, Delita decided to watch his friend's back instead of the sole one-two attack they had adopted at the battle's start.

It had never occurred to him to watch his own back as well.

The blade of the sword had punctured through his boiled red leather armor, the cold steel tearing through the flesh just above his right hip; had he not turned once he felt the sword touch his armor, he could've lost a major organ to the attack. He cried out in agony and fell, spinning around once he hit the ground to stare up at his attacker, the squire who had purported himself as an assistant of the Death Knights. He was looking pleased with himself, smiling in an almost friendly manner as he held the sword still dripping with the Hokuten cadet's blood.

"Delita--!"

"Stay away, Teta!" he shouted, frantic as he felt her body fall next to his, trying to move away from her even as she wrapped her arms around his chest and struggled to pull him onto her lap. He could see her as she bowed her head over his, her long, dark hair falling over him like a waterfall. He heard her cry out, and then there was a tingly, not unpleasant feeling at the site of his wound. Pulling himself up, he looked at her, noting her heavy breathing and the pallor of her face. That was no ordinary cure spell, he knew, but rather a restorative wish to grant a loved one strength by giving their own.

"Brother..." she whimpered, her eyes growing wide as she stared past him. He turned away from her, staring instead at the squire who was now summoning a great flame in the palm of his left hand. Ramza was charging at the the Death Knight's back, his sword upraised. The young leader absently tossed the high level fireball to the side, where it lanced through the protective shell covering Ramza and knocked him down. In the time it took to bring down the inexperienced cadet, there was another burst of fire dancing in the Death Knight assistant's hand.

The squire was laughing. "The plan went just like Gafgarion said it would! Baby Hokuten are no match for us! You're just like women, cowering and whimpering--"

"What a thing to say."

The tip of a sword appeared through his chest suddenly, just like the apparition that now stood behind him. This person, with one grand movement, swung the young man off of the sword, and he landed in a heap a few steps away from Delita and Teta's frozen forms. They did not even jerk away from the corpse, so entranced as they were with the revealing of their savior.

It was a woman, but she looked like a demon.

She stood before them, her body covered in silver and green. What was not explicitly shown to be covered in polished, glinting silver was shielded underneath a sleeveless, knee-length green dress with gold trim, the dark color matching the darkening green of the field now that the sun was descending. Durable green gloves covered her hands, which wielded the gleaming silver sword with a frightening ease. Above the high necked dress was the first--and truly only--hint that this creature was human: a creamy, pale chin and chapped pink lips. Above this was similarly covered in silver, and it was quite possibly the most frightening thing about her. She wore something that was part helm, part visor; it covered her nose, rising up before swooping down over her brow, shielding her eyes and giving them a pitless look before it clutched possessively at the ridges of her jawline. The design of the helm was that of a raging dragon, its eyes at the bridge of her nose, outstretched legs at her jaws, and large, jagged wings flung out behind her head. Hair the color of harvest wheat hung over her shoulders like a wild mane.

It felt as though the Hyral siblings had been examining her, taking in the brazen wildness about her for an impossibly long time before she looked away in favor of the dying melee. "If you're not planning on attending the battle, please don't linger on the battlefield," she stated, her tone wry. She strode away, slashing down a similarly green clad warrior as she departed.

Heaving a hefty sigh, Delita disengaged his sister's death hold on him before standing up, wincing at bit at his still injured side. "Teta, do not do that again. You could have gotten yourself killed with that reckless act."

"I just wanted to do something," Teta stated, "it was all I could do. Alma helped Ramza, so I should come to your aid..."

He shook his head. "Alma at least stayed within the barrier." Turning away as if to follow the mysterious woman, he muttered, "We will talk about this later," just before he left, approaching a slightly charred but still conscious Ramza.

"But, I...Brother..." Teta murmured, her eyes softening with the appearance of tears. Lost in her thoughts, she could not feel Ovelia's soft hands as they began to lead her back to the chocobos.

-0-

When a fight has ended, most of the time all the remaining warriors can do is to simply collapse onto the ground, utterly spent in the wake of indulging in the heat of the battle. With all the Death Knights now adhering to their namesake, even the normally stern Agrias Oaks would have been doing the same. Instead, she was up and alert, brandishing her sword at the two figures in front of her. One was a woman, the very same one that had saved the Hyral siblings; the other was a man, dressed in a white and green uniform with brown gloves, thick rawhide traveling boots, and his short blond hair and hazel eyes uncovered. He had helped the Holy Knight, assisting her with a deceptive ease as he methodically took down each enemy that escaped her sword skills. Now he was even helpfully holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, his sword drawn in the hilt hanging down the side of his hip. But that woman...

"Do you often treat your allies this way?" the armored woman scoffed, her own sword in hand. "Unlike Cadmus, I won't be polite to a knight who clearly doesn't have my best interests in mind."

Agrias ground her teeth at this, casting a looking behind her. The Hokuten cadets were with the girls, openly watching the spectacle but unwilling to move to help for whatever reason. She was thankful, if only for the fact that she had not had much experience with diplomatic speech and did not want to embarrass herself in front of a Beoulve. "You wear the colors of a Death Knight. Put your sword away, for I have no reason to trust you."

"I don't have any reason to trust you either, so--"

"Lenneth," the man named Cadmus murmured, "please." Grudgingly the woman sheathed her sword, taking up a relaxed stance as she dully stared at Agrias.

Agrias was confused. The man was by far the more reasonable one...but why did she feel that he was far more dangerous than his calm face and placating stance would have her believe? "So then, you two are Death Knights, are you not? Why did you assist us?"

"Do you often question help?" Lenneth muttered.

After a side glance at her, Cadmus lowered his hands. "We wished to protect the princess, naturally."

"How did you know that the princess departed from Orbonne?" Agrias asked, her eyes like dark fire. It was one thing to leave the monastery on the orders from the princess, but it was another thing entirely to be attacked a mere hour later! It was suspicious, and the lady knight knew of no one else to be more suspicious of than so-called allies wearing green.

"Because there was a plan by the Death Knights to assassinate the princess," the male knight answered, ignoring the slitted glare the Holy Knight had aimed at him. "You may be surprised by this, Lady Knight, but we personally do not wish any harm upon an innocent."

"Plus, we have a boon to ask for," Lenneth said, her lips pursed as she and her partner kneeled before Agrias, "we wish to journey to the castle, so that we may warn its leaders of the Death Knights' true plan."

"What is it?"

"We can't tell you."

"Then, we can't take you."

The two Death Knights bristled at this, yet they kept their stance as a quiet plea. The Holy Knight was unmoved by this, and she made as if to leave.

"Alright, you may come with us."

The three knights stared at the newcomer, the princess herself. "If you say that you have information that can save Ivalice--whether it be castle or country--then I will trust you, for I would not doubt that the Death Knights love Ivalice and wish to protect it as much as any other Ivalician," she said, her bearing that of the purest royalty, her gaze steady as she looked upon the knights who were a part of the group that once swore to make the grievances of the villages known to the castle.

Cadmus lowered his head, murmuring, "Thank you, gracious princess. May the favor of the holy saint Ajora fall upon you during your rule."

Ovelia was flustered at those words, shaking her head as she said, "The favor of rule goes to my nephew, the Crown Prince Orinas. Not me, no."

"My mistake. Still, I wish the best of you."

Agrias sighed. She was raised, both as a noblewoman and as a knight of the Order of Lesalia--a name for the royal area of the castle--to be always understanding of the decisions of royalty. They knew far more than she could ever fathom, after all. But, when it came to the decisions of her charge, she was dubious if the girl knew more than she herself did. First the irrational rush to leave Orbonne instead of waiting patiently for the escort, and now this. Even if her reasoning was logical, the fact remained that the princess would be traveling with those that had just claimed that their group wanted to murder her.

There was no rest for her in the days ahead, the Holy Knight knew, not while the former Death Knights walked alongside the princess.

-End to Chapter Four-

Whew, didn't think I'd finish it in time. Battles aren't my specialty, but I hope you like what I could present with my skill at this point.

I won't be responding to reviews this time around because of the month-long break, but thank you for reviewing. Haven't said that in awhile, I apologize.


	6. 5: Tension

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Five: Tension

The sky was an oppressive midnight blue when he departed from the castle, tiny glittering stars outdone by a round, full milky-white moon. It was a couple hours before the sun would begin its trek across the vast sky, vanquishing the lunar hold and casting its rays upon the fair land. But instead of journeying on what would be another beautiful day, this man preferred to go about on this trip cloaked by the night. What he was about to do seemed more appropriate to be carried out while in the embrace of the night, rather than to be scruntized by the harsh glare of the sunlight.

On top of his loyal steed--a flame-red chocobo--the man traversed across the moonlit plains. There were no monsters traipsing about, no beasts of the night hunting for an unsuspecting morsel of human delicacy. Though the man was happy enough about that, he would not have been afraid even if his journey was wrought with danger. Perhaps it was the large, gleaming sword strapped on his back that assured him of his safety, or maybe it was his natural confidence in his own abilities; whatever the cause, he was well suited for whatever may come.

When he stepped down from his ride an hour later, his steps seemed heavy with disappointment at his safe journey. He tied the reins of the monster to a nearby willow tree, noting a rare black chocobo similarly tied to another willow relatively close by. The man smiled; he had never managed to arrive early. He walked ahead, his heavy boots encountering dry earth, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of stone markers. There was a figure kneeling among the ivory headstones, this one in armor that shone unnaturally with the cold light, a dark surcoat over much of the gleaming armor but with the hood pulled down behind a head full of gray. The recent arrival walked respectfully through the stones until he stood directly behind the kneeling figure.

"You are late, Cid. Whatever happened to being 'as fast as thunder'?"

The great Thundergod Cid merely smiled as he clasped his hands in the proper prayer format. "An old man needs all the sleep he can get, Vormav."

Vormav Tingel did not reply, lowering his head more for the sake of the deceased he was paying his respects to than his friend. After a moment he stood, favoring the other man with a glance. "Shall we?"

Cidolfas nodded. Together, the men made their way to the Gallionne area of the castle cemetery, where a large section was cordoned off. Inside that section was a grand ivory marker that glowed with the same ethereal purity of the moon. They stood just beyond this plaque, gloved hands twisting in the same graceful motion to simulate the prayer of the honorable Ajora. A full minute passed before they lifted their heads, the Divine Knight reaching forward to touch the runic letters that were carved along the length of the stone.

_'Blanc Chevalier Bénit Balbanes Beoulve, Que Votre Chemin Mène Ivalice Vers Un Nouvel Age d'Honeur, de Pureté, et de Sainte Ardeur'_

"'Blessed White Knight Balbanes Beoulve, Let Your Way Take Ivalice Into A New Age Of Honor, Purity, And Holy Ardor'," Vormav read from memory, just as he had every time he and Cidolfas stood before the grave of their good friend. It was tradition for the two men to travel to the castle cemetery once a month and pay their respects. Even during the ferocious winter they had done this; possible frostbite meant nothing compared to honor. Vormav pulled his hand away from the stone, exhaling a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a tired sigh. "Do you know if his sons visit his monument?" he asked, his tone subdued and grave in the night.

"Zalbag comes when they let him out. Ramza and his friend do so occasionally," the Swordmaster shrugged, smoothing out his long brown cloak, "who knows about Dycedarg."

After giving his friend a side glance, Vormav deigned to let a small smile show from his ordinarily dour face. "Is that what we call 'reconnaissance'?"

"It would be what we call 'curiosity'."

"Everyone has moved on."

"Except for us, it seems."

The younger of the two elite knights shook his head, a bland expression now on his face. "The days where we played at being rivals and tried our damnedest to keep honor and glory alive have wilted away. 'Une fleur s'épanouit, une fleur fanne', one could say."

"'A flower blossoms, a flower wilts'? Then, we are in the process of wilting?" Orlandu shook his head in disbelief. "I may have told Orlan that my time is passing, but has it really been so long since we three were the exalted trinity of the castle? Whatever happened to the unity between our halls?"

"The king died. Balbanes died. The good Lord Larg considers himself the regent of his sister's son, and Gallionne seems to think themselves blessed by royal favor," Vormav gave his friend a curious look. "Were you not awake during these last two years, my friend?"

Cidolfas said nothing, a look of weariness crumbling his once handsome face. Finally, he sighed. "There seems to be a loss of unity these days. From Gallionne it is to be expected, but what of yourself and Murond? I hear Gallionne is angry at your actions?"

Vormav turned away, something of amusement playing in his dark eyes. "I merely let the Pillars take a vote, while keeping myself and all those with a special interest in the matter out of it."

"So then, only one person voted?"

"It would have been unanimous either way. Zalbag does not need to know the particulars."

The Swordmaster held back a chuckle as he looked to the east. "Cruel as ever, Vormav. The sun is starting to rise. Shall we return?"

"Not yet," Vormav answered, walking away from Balbanes' memorial and out of the Gallionne section of the cemetery. Cidolfas followed until they returned to the area set aside for those of Murond. There, the commander of the Shrine Knights returned to the grave he had been kneeling at, pulling out of his surcoat a sprig of lavender and placing it against the stone. The other man stood off to the side, battle-worn eyes reading the tiny inscription of the headstone for what felt like the hundredth time since it had been erected. It was not in the ancient script or language, as the creator of the epithet had been more concerned with praising the deceased than obscuring the meaning of the words for the sake of beauty.

'_Rachènne Tingel, Devoted Wife and Proud Mother  
May Ajora Light Your Way To Our Eternal Father_'

After a moment the widower stood, touching the top of the stone with a caress that belied the strength of his hands. Cidolfas waited before he moved his hand away before asking, "And how are your children doing these days? Blooming well?"

"...Meliadoul is a true prodigy of the sword. I am very pleased with her."

"I seem to remember that you had a son as well, my friend."

Vormav began to walk away. "Rachènne was so happy to bear a son, especially after all those..." he paused, then shook his head and continued, saying, "He is alive. I do not know what to do with him. No hand-eye coordination, as well as a lack of magical skill to fall back on..." he grunted in displeasure.

"Perhaps you are being too harsh?" Orlandu suggested, keeping a steady pace behind the younger man. "Not everyone is a prodigy."

"How is your son?"

"Very well. He leads the magic squadrons with capable hands, as well the Nanten intelligence."

"I rest my case."

"Vormav..." Cidolfas' protest was stopped by one hand and the look of barely held in annoyance on Vormav's gruff-looking face.

"My children have to stand on their own feet. You may think that I am being harsh, but Izlude is nearly seventeen, more than old enough to find a path to excel in. My wife did not bear these children so that they may just drift through life like so much flotsam. All I ask from my children is that they do well in whatever venture they choose. If he cannot do that much, then we are both disgraced."

Cidolfas simply shook his head. This wasn't the first time they had discussed this; when Vormav was stressed he was liable to pick apart anything that displeased him. "You are quite the kind father," the Nanten commander said in a droll tone.

There was nothing more to be said on either end, and the men departed from the field of ivory stones as the day began to break.

-0-

It was just as the sun was beginning to descend that the weary group of royalty, Hokuten cadets, Orbonne acolytes, former Death Knights and one very disgruntled bodyguard found a proper resting place. It was a nice glen, with a river nearby with water so pure and refreshing that it might have been bottled and sold for quite a pretty gil in a different time. As it was, this diverse group was too tired to think of such materialistic ventures, instead partaking in the time-honored tradition of preparing to sleep underneath the stars with nothing but the comfort of their chocobos' soft down against their heads...at least, for four of them. The avian monsters did not seem to mind; lowering themselves onto the ground and being used as pillows was more relaxing than carrying their humans since dawn. They cooed, kweh'ed and wark'ed amongst each other as the girls cuddled up to them, for the spring nights still carried some of the chill of the preceding winter.

One chocobo was without a human as Agrias Oaks, Holy Knight and self-named leader of the group, leaned against a tree just behind her charge and warily looked around for any sign of danger. Her hand was near the hilt of her sword, a nonverbal hint towards the duo in green who, to her immense annoyance, did not even acknowledge her distrust in them and kept quietly talking to each other. Ramza and Delita had noticed, but they were too busy creating a fire using twigs and the former's skill in magic. There was a sort of comfortable tension in this scene, an innocent camp out between enemies.

Once the fire began to blaze, Delita looked around, avoiding eye contact with Teta as he did so. With the way this group was, the siblings had not been able to talk of their actions towards each other during the battle a day ago. "Um...we seem to need some food." He did not notice Alma glowering at her brother when he said this; Ramza had unwittingly told her that their mother had wanted to see her and cook a sizable dinner for the Beoulve and Hyral siblings. No one had dared bring up that idea after the attack.

Cadmus stood. "I will hunt, then."

Agrias stiffened at this. A Death Knight, former or not, going out into the wilderness alone? That was just asking for a possible ambush.

--_Because there was a plan by the Death Knights to assassinate the princess_--

No one else had even looked remotely worried, annoying the lady knight further. "Would you mind being accompanied?"

To his credit, not even a flicker of surprise crossed his face. "No, of course not."

"Good. Ramza, Delita, go with him."

The friends glanced at each other from across the flames, eyebrows raised at the order. Before this trip, they were used to only receiving orders from the Hokuten instructors. Even Zalbag had been a surprise to them. But, it was a little different to be commanded around by a royal bodyguard, even if she did outrank them. "Yes ma'am," Ramza nodded, and the two cadets joined the former Death Knight in his departure.

Agrias kept an eye on the other knight in green. For her part, Lenneth was contentedly nibbling on something she had picked from one of the trees, her mask obscuring her face like usual. She looked as if she hadn't a care in the world, an attitude which only served to pluck at the Holy Knight's taut nerves.

The cleric trainees watched the tension between the two lady knights rise, much more affected by the feelings in the air. Teta hadn't spoken in a day, sensitive as she was to the emotional current. Alma was unsure of what to do, her innate cheerfulness dampened by worry and hunger. Ovelia, in observing her friends, came to a conclusion and sat up from her choco-pillow, stroking the bird's neck when it glanced at her in confusion. She cleared her throat. "Ah, Lady Lenneth, may I ask what you are eating?"

The woman paused in mid-bite to look at the princess, the firelight and the dying sun glinting off of her strange mask. "It's an edible nut, sweet to roast but fine as is."

"Oh. May I have one?"

"Princess!" Agrias exclaimed sternly. "As your guard, I suggest you do not accept anything unless it can be verified that it is, indeed, edible for your consumption."

Ovelia, properly chastened, bowed her head in repentance for the foolishness of her request. Lenneth, however, had turned her attention away from the princess to the bodyguard. "...Okay then," she said before plopping an entire nut into her mouth, crunching it loudly before swallowing. "Tastes fine to me."

Agrias merely narrowed her eyes, and the tension went up another notch.

What could the princess do? Though she was supposed to be the key to unity between her people, she could not do anything more than to irritate her loyal knight. But something had to be done, if only to alleviate the tension for the remainder of the journey.Gathering some of her courage, she tried again. "Lady Lenneth, that mask you wear...what does it represent?"

The woman smiled at this question, though the image of the swooping dragon covering much of her face gave a much colder glint to it. "Well, my princess would know that the Church teaches that our ancestors arrived here from many countries; immigrants, in other words. In one such country, Archadia if my memory is right, there were such beings known as 'valkyries'. These valkyries were blood-thirsty women who loved nothing more than to incite war after war in order to sate their blood lust, though they claimed that they were angels of the battlefield who saved the souls of the bravest warriors," she sighed dreamily. "If I could, I would like to become something like that."

While Ovelia wondered if it was just better to leave everything at that, Teta and Alma were too busy staring at the armored woman in pure, unadulterated fear. Agrias had her hand on the hilt of her sword, prepared and just waiting for a twitch on the other woman's part. The princess finally clasped her hands in her lap and ventured to continue the conversation with, "For you admired the strength of these women and wished to have such a presence yourself?"

"Naturally," Lenneth nodded, "I don't care for war--though I've never been a part of it myself, what with the way Ivalice is--but I do admire a woman who can be just as feared as her male counterparts."

"Oh, I think I can understand. So, the mask represents that ideal?"

"Well, it's quite intimidating, don't you think?"

"Quite," Ovelia answered truthfully. "Would it be rude to ask you to take it off?"

The female knight shrugged and reached to pull it off, lowering her head slightly to better assist in this act. When she lifted her head, she smiled slightly. "Is this alright with my princess?"

The three girls stared with equally blank looks. Before their very eyes, a fearsome looking warrior was transformed into quite an attractive woman. Her face was clear and light-colored, though somewhat darker than Ovelia's alabaster skin. But, what was even more astonishing was her eyes, an indescribable color between blue and green unknown to the collective Ivalician people. The ordinary Ivalician was granted some shade of brown, with a few blessed with blue or green eyes. Of course, there was a certain case of crimson appearing every couple of generations in a few noble houses, so Lenneth was not particularly gifted with the rarest of colors. However, other than Ovelia's own clear blue eyes and Cadmus' hazel-green eyes, the rest of the group had to deal with some dark shade of brown.

"Your eyes...are quite lovely," Ovelia said once she found her voice.

Lenneth smirked. "That's why I wear the mask."

To anyone else, this might have been an odd statement to make. What matters beauty if it is forevermore hidden? But to the cloistered princess who had spent years inside Orbonne Monastery, there was a different meaning she gathered from the knight's words. There were things to be flaunted, necessary masks to hide behind, princes to use, and then there were the hidden things. Beautiful eyes and princesses, useless things one and the same.

Ovelia could empathize with the woman who had been a Death Knight, despite her bodyguard's obvious distrust. She couldn't help it, just like she couldn't help but wonder if her position was really that much more different than that of the villagers who were ignored by the castle nobility. She leaned back against her chocobo, a pensive look on her face that Agrias couldn't help but notice. The Holy Knight frowned at this, her earlier suspicions about the former Death Knights they had to travel with not at all dampened by Lenneth's seemingly friendly behavior. Something was still off, still wrong about the whole situation.

But in the end, only one of them would be right.

-0-

It was nighttime in Ivalice, at such an hour when lanterns and candles would be extinguished in favor of rest. Certainly this was true of most of the castle, where much of the work was not of a solitary nature but rather with one's neighbors and associates. Only the odd merchant would be burning the proverbial midnight oil, checking on the state of his shipments and investments around the country. There were knights stationed around the castle, fervently guarding their posts, though they were doing this with a distinct lack of light. There was nothing to be on the lookout for, and thus the image of the noble knights standing around in the proper uniform and peering into the darkness was exactly that: an image. Always on defense from invisible enemies, the illustrious castle fairly radiated an impeccable confidence as it glowed holy white from the moon.

Murond was no different from the rest of the castle in regards to the night patrol, even though its inhabitants consisted of clergy and knights, acolytes to the priesthood and mages, and nothing in the way of noble or merchant families. Most of the people who dwelt under the banner of crimson and black could not claim noble blood, or any sort of pretensions to the aristocracy; they followed their hearts, and their hearts led them to follow God's supreme will.

Sir Rofel Wodring, the Pillar of Knowledge and second-in-command of the Shrine Knights, was one such person who had followed his heart to the Glabados faith. He was a commoner from Riovanes village, a town to the northwest second in size to Dorter, yet what dwelt in his mind was nothing that could be considered common. Voracious for knowledge, he learned both swordplay and magic from a young age; now, in his thirty-eighth year he was immensely respected for his nearly limitless knowledge in all things wide and sundry.

He was awake at this time, leisurely walking out of Murond's vast bookrooms, which to many people was a second home to the Divine Knight. He nodded as he passed the patrols, and the only thing that struck them as strange about him was the fact that his protégé, the young mage Kletian, was not with him. However, it could be reasoned that the sorcerer was either sleeping or committing those rumored acts of indescretion that had nearly cost him his upcoming title as a Pillar. Not that it would matter; secrets were notoriously hard to keep in Murond.

Rofel kept a few secrets.

He made his way to Vormav Tingel's room, knowing that the commander would be presently awake. Knocking once before opening the door, he was struck, as he always was, by the bareness of the room. A bed shoved in the corner, a desk and a chair. Once the place had been absolutely cluttered with items, but once the room had held a decidedly feminine touch as well.

Vormav himself was at his desk, scowling at something with the help of a small lantern. "Report," he snapped.

"Gallionne is up to something," Rofel answered serenely, walking forward to stand at his leader's side.

"Why, when Larg is already going to be named the regent to the prince?"

"I hear the Death Knights have been forming around Orbonne while stocking up in Dorter."

Vormav looked up at this bit of information, the fire from the lantern reflecting in his eyes. "Are they fools? Orbonne cannot be breached by anyone but the worthy."

"That would be the problem," Rofel said, lowering his head so that the hood of his surcoat hid his eyes. "Priest Buremonda has sent a messenger. The Princess is returning to the castle."

"And who is her escort?"

"...Hokuten cadets."

There was a black fury churning within the Shrine Knight commander's dark eyes, and his hands clenched into metal covered fists. "So," he enunciated very carefully, lest he lose control of his renowned fiery temper, "is this a case of gross negligence, or should we now assume that Zalbag is lost to us?"

"The former," Rofel responded, raising his head to look at his commander in the eye, "one of the cadets is Ramza Beoulve."

Vormav grunted at this. "So, we are allied with idiots then. Give me some good news."

"'They' are still out there."

"...Hn. Talk to Zalbag. Bring him over here, and keep him away from Beowulf."

"That should be easy enough. Lately he has been hunting almost every day."

"Should I be worried?"

"No," Rofel answered decisively. He glanced at the notice on Vormav's desk, reading it quickly before sighing in disgust. "The High Priest has become quite impatient as of late, I see. Have you made any progress?"

"No, but it does not matter. If the princess does not live, that will be the end of it all."

-End to Chapter Five-

This chapter is a little shorter than usual because I'm writing three fics in one week, and because I really need to redo my summaries for this story. It's going to be a long story. After _Zodiac Signal_ is completed, I'm thinking of making this a weekly serial, since it's a pretty slow story that would benefit from a better release schedule. If you have any comments about that, I'd like to hear them!

Reviewers!

Hawk of Death, who did you think the two people in green were? I'm curious.  
Yep, the Death Knight squire was indeed Rad. I was thinking about having Alicia and Lavian, Agrias' hanger-ons, be at Orbonne, but then they were going to get slaughtered during the fight anyway. Bah, I hate writing too many characters in one scene.  
Sarai is a nice name...don't know why, but it has a 'country girl' feel about it.  
Thanks so much for your help. I'm sorry you have to put up with my inane questions.

Hey Luna, you're stuck with all those college apps, huh? Can I ask what your first choice is?  
Thanks for telling me how you felt about the battle scene. I don't know...I can picture them just fine, but actually writing it out is annoying. Meh.  
As for Ramza and Alma's mother...you know, does anyone in FFT other than Orinas have a living mother? Seems like less of these people would be so screwed up if they had caring mothers or fathers who taught compassion instead of the best ways to kill people.  
Gackt has good songs under his belt--I'm listening to Vanilla as I type this out--but it's not like I knew him from his MM days or anything like that. There's an Otakon live DVD of that Laruku concert? Thanks for telling me, I'll try to pick it up!

Hi, The Burning Misery, I don't know why, but it feels really weird to be writing on a regular basis--or scrambling to finish self-imposed deadlines.  
The fic is gaining a pulse. Not much of one, all things considering, but I'll try my best not to bore you!  
Damn, I can't really respond to most of your review. Sorry--


	7. 6: Zalbag, the Holy Knight

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Six: Zalbag, the Holy Knight

Zalbag Beoulve was not the sort of man prone to violent passions or outbursts of temper. Like his elder brother, he was virtually unreadable, though unlike Dycedarg this wasn't something he did on purpose. Zalbag, by all accounts, was far more warmer in demeanor once people got to know him. He was not a charismatic man like his father had been, but he was nice. He was an upstanding man who adhered strictly to the family values of honor and integrity; his duty and family were the most important things to his heart.

That didn't make him any more favored by God than anyone else; even he had bad days, and today was shaping up to be one of his worst.

He was fuming as he left the throne room, where Queen Ruvelia had summoned him two hours ago to appear before her. It was only nine in the morning, and the suddenness of the invitation cut deeply into his paperwork time. But the queen had no notion of how important his time was, and proceeded to prattle on about 'hoping she could continue to trust wholeheartedly in his loyalty.' He hadn't dared to interrupt her ramble, or even to lift his head and glance at the queen. Like the good soldier he was, he kneeled before the dais that her throne--and that of her late husband's--stood upon and kept his thoughts from straying to more important matters. For two hours he had to endure this as well as not-so-subtle attacks on his good character. He had sworn loyalty to the royal family, both as a knight and as a noble, and it frustrated him that some vacuous woman who was his age could so easily chip away at his integrity and all he could do was kneel there and take it.

And that was the third time in as many months.

Now he was going to try and push this whole annoying affair out of his mind. Failing that, he was going to rack his memory for anything, _anything_, that he had done recently that would be taken as insult to the queen. He already knew the answer though, but it couldn't hurt to at least try for the sake of his sanity.

He shook his head as he walked into the hallway that connected Lesalia royal chambers from Gallionne. Not five minutes had passed and he had already given up on trying to forget. Alma used to tell him that it wasn't good to worry so much; after all, Dycedarg never worried about anything and he was...well, she wasn't sure what he was, exactly, but at least he wasn't worrying incessantly. Zalbag smiled at his memory, then he frowned. Thinking about Alma led him to a line of thought that made him worry even more.

Seven days ago, he had sent Ramza and Delita to Orbonne in order to take their sisters back to the castle. The way he had calculated it, it would take three days to get to Orbonne. All four of them would probably spend the night at Sarai's house--he never liked thinking of her as a mother--and it would take them three days to come back. Six days. Not seven. This was grossly unacceptable to Zalbag. He had even planned to give himself some time off and spend it with his siblings, but what was the point when they couldn't even be bothered to come back at the proper time? Not only was he worried, he was angry, not to mention more than a little regretful. He really shouldn't have listened to Dycedarg's advice, not if Ramza and Delita couldn't be trusted to bring back their sisters in a timely fashion.

When he arrived at his office, there were two people waiting outside. One was vaguely familiar, and the other was a complete stranger. Graciously, he knelt down to the stranger--a little girl wearing the robe of a trainee white mage--and smiled. "Hello there. You are not from Gallionne, are you?"

The girl, who he estimated to be about seven or so, shyly shook her head. "No...I come from Murond. I have a message for a 'Mister Zalbag'."

_A little odd_, he thought, charmed as the girl glanced up at him with a pure, shining hope in her eyes as she waited for his response. She reminded him of Alma as a little girl, before she grew up and wanted to leave the castle and hadn't cared about what he thought of the idea. His disposition soured at the thought, but he tried to keep smiling. "You came here from Murond, hm? You must be a very mature young lady. What is the message?"

She beamed at his compliment. "Mister Rofel would like you to join him for tea. He said that friends should see each other every once in a while."

Zalbag nodded at this. He was friends with the Pillar of Knowledge; Rofel was a very easy person to talk to as well as a true believer of the Glabados faith, two qualities that worked well with the Arc Knight. "That is true. Alright, tell him that I will see him after I finish my paperwork." He looked up at the second person, one of the maids for the Beoulve quarters and asked, "Where is this girl's guardian?"

The young woman looked very uncomfortable at the question. "Well, you see, Master Zalbag...it appears that the child came here by herself."

"... 'By herself'?" Zalbag repeated, stunned. The castle was very safe, true, but he personally felt that children shouldn't be walking around without adult supervision. He glanced at the very innocent-looking girl who not only reminded him of Alma in personality but in her blond locks and energetic smile as well, and thought about how he would feel if Alma went walking wherever she pleased without an escort. He didn't like the thought. "You came here by yourself, Miss..."

"Melianne," the girl whispered, seemingly sensing the man's mood change. "Mister Rofel said I was old enough to be a proper messenger. He also said that you were a..." she looked down, deep in thought for a long moment while Zalbag patiently waited, "a gentleman! He said that means you would not let a young lady walk around without an escort, so you would walk me back."

_If I am a gentleman, what does that make him?_ Zalbag grumbled to himself. He had an inkling of why Rofel would do such a thing, and he had to admit that once he entered his office he probably was going to forget about meeting Rofel, like he had so many times before. However, he disliked being put in this position, and he especially disliked Rofel's method to get him to Murond. Either way, the child was still a child, and he now had a moral responsibility to return her to Murond, so he simply smiled and said, "Let me just write a note for any other visitors and then we shall go, alright?"

His day wasn't getting any better, but the girl's bright smile at his words wasn't making his day any worse, either.

-0-

There were no lavishly decorated rooms available to the public eye in the hall of Murond. That great man Ajora Glabados had taught that the true worth of a person was in their soul, not in the transitional beauty of their physical shell. Now, this had been a strange message for him to preach --by all accounts he was as beautiful as a woman right up until his death--but it was in line with the thought of the time, that it was only what a person could do for the immigrants as a whole that truly mattered. Beauty, in the scheme of things, was useless. Centuries and centuries later, that thought still held onto the Glabados faith and therefore affected all of Ivalice. It was what a person could do that truly mattered, not their looks--though by now image was starting to claw its way into the hearts of people as a somewhat nice thing every once in a while. In Murond, this thought even affected their rooms.

For a tea room, it wasn't impressive. It used to be a storage room, way back when guests were entertained in the comfort of one's own room. But sometime a couple centuries back there were enough complaints about shoving large groups of people into one's home, that no one wanted to use their own tea, and that the other halls had elegantly decorated tea rooms that the High Priest of the time ordered a room to be created into a place for meeting others and enjoying conversation and tea. To this day, Murond's tea room was small and virtually bare, with the exception of two small and stiff antique couches and a small and stout well-polished chestnut table placed between them.

Perhaps that was that High Priest's revenge for such a frivolous request.

Zalbag was familiar with the location of the tea room; he had met with Rofel there many times before. All the same, he allowed the girl Melianne to lead him there by the hand, as he wasn't sure if this child was the kind of girl Alma used to be and would scamper away if his attention was drawn away for just one second. He was relieved when she shyly took his hand and proceeded to stay by his side, somehow managing to match the pace set by his longer legs. The door to the tea room was already open, and Melianne wriggled her hand from his grasp and took the lead as the dutiful messenger, entering the room and bowing to the seated Rofel. "Mister Rofel, I brought Mister Zalbag," she announced, a cheer for herself rising in her tone.

"Good girl! Now, your reward," Zalbag watched as Rofel took two cookies, the diminutive name for tiny pieces of unleavened bread, from the table and handed them to the girl before patting her on the head. "Now, it should be about time for your reading class, so eat those before you enter your class."

"Thank you," the girl nodded before leaving the room, bowing quickly to Zalbag when she passed him. Still feeling a little protective, the Arc Knight watched her walk away before he entered the room. Rofel stood, clad formally in his golden armor and dusky blue surcoat, the hood of which firmly covered his hairline. The formality began and ended with his dress code, however.

"So, what did you need me for so desperately that you would send a child to fetch me?" Zalbag asked, a touch more annoyance apparent in his tone than he would've liked to show. By the way Rofel was smiling, it was also apparent that the elder man chose not to care.

"She did not tell you? Perhaps I should have withheld a cookie," the Divine Knight chuckled, gesturing to the other couch. "Sit, please. I only wanted to talk, but I had not accounted for the fact that you would be in such a mood so early in the morning."

The other man said nothing, only following the request and sitting down, an action soon followed by Rofel. After the tea was poured into delicate, eggshell-like cups by the other man, Zalbag deigned to speak. "I know it is your motto to do whatever you can to fulfill even the smallest objective, but..."

"You dislike it."

"Well, yes."

Rofel paused, the lip of the cup at his. "Well then, I do apologize."

"Sorry, I have been..." Zalbag sighed, trying to recall the appropriate word, "stressed."

"More than usual?"

"Hm. Well, there is nothing to be done about that." Setting down his cup on the matching saucer, he poured himself another cup of tea. "More to the point, while I am here, I would like to see your 'Pillar of Morality' again."

"Beowulf?" Rofel took the teapot away from Zalbag, aiming to refill his own cup as well. "Why, if I may ask?"

Zalbag raised an eyebrow at this. Usually the other man was not so dense. "You know why. I intend to find and destroy the Death Knights now, while they are still inactive."

There was an inscrutable look on Rofel's face, one that set off something inside Zalbag's mind. "Oh?"

"What?"

"No...I am thinking that, if he had nothing to say before, what would a second time garner for your investigation?" Rofel helped himself to a cookie. "We would not support anyone with ties to terrorism."

"Oh, is that so?" The words were smeared with sarcasm. "With the aftermath of Limberry village, it was surprising that your commander was silent on condemning the masterminds, especially considering they were your own knights."

"You will forgive me, but that is something I cannot discuss. It would suffice to say that, while they were once affiliated with the Lionel Holy Knights, they had cut off their ties prior to that...incident."

Zalbag, already irritated following the events before this meeting, tried very hard to rein in his rising temper. "Fine. After all, Marquis Elmdor is recuperating nicely, and Zeltennia has done their part in housing many of the indisposed villagers. But, I would still like to question that man." He noticed Rofel's brief sigh before taking a sip of tea and already knew what the answer would be.

"I apologize, but he is not here right now. He is hunting."

"Alone?"

"He is a grown man. Surely he can be left alone for a few hours," Rofel chuckled at his own words, an action which didn't help Zalbag's temperament any.

"It is so easy for you to trust your men, but some of us cannot afford that luxury," the Arc Knight snapped, losing his tenuous hold on his self-restraint. The Divine Knight was good at doing things like that, nudging a person around until they had completely lost their balance. Zalbag knew this, and he cursed himself at losing his control. Rofel was a friend, but Zalbag had always hated how the older man could find his weaknesses so easily.

"There is someone you cannot trust?" Rofel asked, now watching Zalbag carefully. The younger man grunted and decided just to get over it.

"Over a week ago, I had my younger brother and his friend go to Orbonne, so that he might bring back our younger sister and her friend. Yet, the normal amount of days it would take to go there and return have passed and they have not returned yet. I am...worried," he finished gruffly. It was all well and good to acknowledge to himself that he worried over his family, but he did not care for anyone else knowing that. He continued with, "I thought I could trust my brother to do this with a minimum of worry on my part, but perhaps I should reconsider his eligibility as a Hokuten knight."

"That may be a little harsh," Rofel responded mildly. "You had only sent your brother and his friend to Orbonne? No guards?"

"Why would I send guards?" Zalbag grumbled. "In the times before the Death Knights began lurking about and harming innocents, we could freely leave the castle and travel where we pleased."

"Yes, in those times. It is a bit different now."

"Now? There has been a reprieve from their acts of terror."

Rofel said nothing immediately afterward. It was that pause that caught Zalbag's attention, for the elder man was not prone to forcing lulls in the conversation. Warning flags went up in the Arc Knight's mind, and he sat up and fixed Rofel with a piercing gaze. "There has been a reprieve by the Death Knights, has there not?"

The Divine Knight only sighed. "What would prompt the commander of the Hokuten to make such a claim?"

The wording did it. Zalbag set his teacup down and leaned forward, quickly arranging his thoughts. "The Royal Knights claimed such a thing. As there have been no attacks since Limberry had been invaded this winter, I felt that this would not be such a wrong thing to believe." He frowned, thinking of the decisions he had made following the attack. "The Hokuten are unable to roam the country. I sent half of them to Limberry to assist the Aegis Knights, as you well know. I should be able to trust the reports from the royal hall, but you seem to know something they do not."

"Well, the Lionel Holy Knights are only under the jurisdiction of Cardinal Draclau and the Lionel region," Rofel began, "but we do keep watch on Orbonne as well. And Orbonne is very close to Dorter. There have of the Death Knights converging in Dorter, skulking within the shadows of the slums, that sort of thing."

"Why?" Zalbag asked, confusion marring his face. "No one with an impure heart can breach Orbonne. What is there that they would act so desperately to get?"

"...If you do not know, then I am prohibited from telling you," Rofel said, shaking his head. "I am sorry."

All his life, Zalbag Beoulve had held himself to the standards of one born to one of the greatest knights in one of the most prominent knight families of Ivalice. Every part of his life had been strictly regimented so that he could grow up to become a man worthy of the Beoulve name. He had stumbled a few times, as unbridled perfection did not pump through his veins, but he was proud of who he was now. It was unusual for him to not achieve what he had set out to do, and he was unaccustomed to the heart-pounding shock of realizing that he had made a grievous mistake.

Until now.

"Oh, God." He stood, fear making his hazel eyes wide and unseeing as he relived sending his brother out on what should've been a simple mission. He had been berating Ramza in his mind, and all along...! "If...if what you say is true..." he started, gritting his teeth in an effort to calm himself down and to think rationally.

Rofel stood as well, his face creased with sympathy. "I am sorry to bear such news."

"Not as sorry as I," Zalbag muttered. "I must go." He did not wait for a response before walking out of the room. By the time he reached the hallway that led to Gallionne he was jogging, trying to out race the memory of watching his father waste away from pneumonia and knowing that there was nothing he could do.

No. He had promised himself that he was never going to stand by, helpless to do nothing else but watch. Not again.

Never again.

-0-

By the time noon rolled around, the sun curiously watching the events from the apex of its daily journey, the Hokuten commander had assembled together a group of thirty knights in front of the Gallionne stables. In the back row of the arrangement there was a line of healers, chemists and white mages both. The mood was grim despite the shining beauty of the day, the men and women having gauged their commander's mood and assessing the seriousness of the mission by this.

It was a mission of the highest priority, if they were reading his demeanor correctly.

Zalbag stood before his assembled troops, the very model of tightly reined emotions and dour disposition. There was a subtle air of desperation crackling around him, but no one would dare question his ability to lead based on that. "Everyone!" he shouted, sparking the automatic military reaction of ramrod-straight backs and complete attention to the briefing. "Approximately seven days ago, cadets Ramza Beoulve and Delita Hyral were sent on a mission to retrieve clerical acolytes Alma Beoulve and Teta Hyral from Orbonne Monastery. It has come to my attention that, despite previous information to the contrary, the Death Knights have been active since the Limberry village attack. They have been seen in Dorter village.

"Your orders are this: retrieve the Hokuten cadets and their charges. Their condition is irrelevant. If there are any Death Knights, engage in combat at your own discretion. However, this does not override the primary orders; this is a search and rescue mission." Zalbag paused, surveying his troops for any negative expression regarding the personal nature of the mission. There was none, and he was inwardly relieved. He had some ethical considerations regarding using his rank in such a matter; he was sure that Dycedarg would not have done the same. "Then, let us be off."

The company mounted the chocobos set aside for their mission and gathered in the proper formation, flanking the Arc Knight while he rode in the front. This was a formation started by the castle's 'Holy Trinity' of the last generation, who were often criticized in their time for their dangerous antics and shows of bravado. However, a younger Balbanes Beoulve had argued back, asking who would follow a leader who hid behind his troops and was only good for screaming orders?

_Who, indeed_, Zalbag thought, his eyes scanning the far countryside for some sort of movement. He was not expecting to see anything until they arrived in the area surrounding Dorter, and that would not be for days.

Therefore, he was surprised when, just twenty minutes later, he noticed a group heading towards him.

He heard the murmurs behind him as the rest of his group noticed the same thing he had; four people on chocobos, and another four walking beside them. "Be on your guard," he announced, urging his chocobo to keep at its steady pace. Hope was tingling over the bare skin of his face, distorting his vision and making him think that he recognized some of those people as his own siblings...

He vaguely saw one of the people sitting on a chocobo raise their arms. "Brother Zaaaal-baaag!!" this one cried in a shrill voice, and he instinctively lightened his harsh expression in recognition of the voice as relief flowed through his body.

_Thank God_, he thought in his euphoria, _they are alright._

"Well then," Zalbag stated, something of a smile starting to appear, "you have your--"

Green. There were two people in green...Death Knights? He nearly scoffed at himself. Who else would wear green? However, these particular Death Knights were walking with the group his siblings were in. He quickly decided on a course of action. "Left flank, follow mission orders. Right flank, with me. We shall apprehend the Death Knights."

"Sir Zalbag?" A woman of the left flank spoke up. "There are unidentified individuals, a woman in blue and another in white. Do mission orders extend to them?"

The groups were close enough that with a glance Zalbag could identify at least one of the named individuals. "Lesalia Royal Knight, Holy Knight. I do not know who the woman in white is, but it is safe to say that mission orders should extend to them. You have your orders." With that, he and his flanks broke away to tend to their duties. Like flocks of birds heading south for the winter, the Hokuten troops quickly arranged themselves in the proper positions to best perform their duties. The left flank reached their targets and brought the medic units ahead of them, protectively surrounding the group they were ordered to go to while still maintaining a friendly disposition.

On the other hand, Zalbag and the right flank cut off the Death Knights from following the others, surrounding them within a tight circle. Zalbag approached the knights before frowning, his eyes flickering in recognition. "Hmph. What a surprise to see Death Knights daring to approach the castle. Why, was Limberry not enough to sate your bloodlust?" he snapped, his earlier relief now replaced with a slow burning anger.

The male Death Knight shook his head, his eyes bland as he stared up at the Arc Knight. "I assure you, we are not here to attack. We have come in peace to warn you of the Death Knights' plans."

Zalbag coldly looked down at the man. "You can explain it to the executioner. He hears such talk all the time."

"I have not done anything wrong," the man coolly responded, glancing at the woman beside him before returning his attention before him. "I only did what I believed was right. I was not responsible for Limberry."

Fury danced within the Hokuten commander's light eyes. "You were not responsible for Limberry? You were not? Who else is ultimately responsible for the Death Knights' actions than you, Wiegraf Folles?!"

"You would be surprised," Wiegraf answered in the same cool tone, just as the woman beside him placed her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"I dislike your tone, Zalbag Beoulve," she stated angrily, completely ignoring the restless knights that surrounded her. "You don't know what we've lost to come here, and you would have us executed to fulfill your justice quota?" She unsheathed her sword, her masked face conveying her rage as she screamed, "You ignorant, dishonorable bastard!"

"Miluda, no!" Wiegraf shouted, grabbing her arm, but it was too late. One of the Hokuten knights rushed forward, smashing the hilt of his sword against her unprotected temple. She cried out and slumped over, unconscious from the blow. Wiegraf drew his own sword then, holding his sister's body against him as he held out his sword before them, as if to warn the Hokuten that he would not go down so easily, but Zalbag could see the desperation in the Death Knight's eyes.

"Apprehend them," the Hokuten commander ordered, "and take them to the dungeon. If either resists, kill them. They are traitors to Ivalice and shall be treated as such."

As Zalbag left his knights to their own devices of capturing the leaders of the Death Knights, he did not feel any sense of victory. Indeed, he felt as if nothing had been won. He didn't know why, but it didn't matter anyway. He had his duty, and he had his family.

And that was all that mattered.

-End to Chapter Six-

And that is that. Not exactly the shocker of the new year, and I'd suspect that a fair number of you already predicted it, but I never was quite that good with the whole 'OMG teh surprise' part of writing. But considering how straight and narrow I write, well...

I've decided that this will become a weekly serial after chapter seven, mainly because I still need to make chapter summaries. Don't worry, though, I do have all major/minor events plotted out for each of the halls and important people, so I'm not too disorganized.

-The title comes from the name of Zalbag's theme in the OST. Just to clarify, there are two kinds of Holy Knight: a general of an army (seikishi) and the job class. The former is in kanji, the latter in katakana.

- 'Cadmus and Lenneth': Cadmus is the name of a Greek hero (WHW readers may be familiar with the note about that), while Lenneth is the name of the heroine in the PS game _Valkyrie Profile_. I wish I owned it, it's a rare game.

-As an aside, every reviewer noted something about Lenneth/Miluda. I found that very interesting and somewhat odd. But, for what it's worth, I'm really happy about that.

Reviewers!

You know what, Luna? That was a really nice way to give your opinion on the updates. I really appreciate it. Izlude shall get his chance later, but let's see if he doesn't screw it up.  
Hm. I had thought that, since you were an AP student, you'd be going for some sort of scholarship program to go out of state with. But yeah, nowadays college tuition is horrendous.  
Bah, let the cheapskates pay for the Laruku DVD instead of getting it off of some site. 'Preview'...ha. Funny people.  
It's totally cool for you to ramble here. This is the rambling fic...alright, it's the purple prose fic, but I'm too old to stress about it as long as you comment on something in-fic. :)

'Ello, Hawk of Death. All I have to say is...heheheh. Heh.  
I do have a name for Izlude's moogle! But Izlude himself will have to wait until this arc is over before showing up again. Well, if you say so, then I'm going to depend on you for translations. Glad that you're willing to help!

Hi, TruebornChaos! Glad you liked the chapter. Actually, I based Lenneth/Miluda off of Kain Highwind from FFIV, particularly his helm. I guess it's just FF dragoon/lancer style to cover oneself in full armor and...jump in it. Yeah, because that makes sense.  
Thanks for your opinion, by the way. It helped in my decision.

Yo, The Burning Misery. You can suppose all you want, I haven't really thought about using the cemetery again. Well, I suppose it'd have to show up again, right? Hm, maybe I am disorganized.You know, I really need to stop writing Izlude as the cast off son who is looked down by his father and feels inferior to his accomplished older sister...maybe. I mean, despite that, he's one of my favorite characters and I hate torturing them...I think. But if someone can relate to Izlude, that's a good thing...eh, actually, no it isn't. Sorry, I'm muddled.  
The only thing Agrias was sensing was her own paranoia. Though, I will admit that her 'bodyguard-sense' was right in realizing that the Death Knights she was traveling with were stronger than they looked. I'm kind of wondering...is Zalbag really so suspicious? I mean, we are told the reason why Zalbag sent R and D on their own in chapter one. Well, it was a long time ago, but I've just been wondering in regards to your other comments in earlier reviews. Oh, and I must thank you for your review of Ragnarök. It was all kinds of awesome.


	8. 7: Men of Morals

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Seven: Men of Morals

The breeze was crisp despite the afternoon hour, a snap of cold that served to wake men dozing off while in the midst of tilling the fields. The touch of the wind upon exposed skin was enough to pucker up the flesh, a chilliness worthy of the ancient ice spirit, she who was carved out of frost and magic with a seductive coldness that made the skin ache in more than one way. That was the kind of cold the aimless breeze held, piercing yet altogether invigorating.

However, Beowulf did not need the wind to exhale life into his body; a visit with the fair maiden of the grove was more than enough for him.

He was returning to the castle now, his thoughts lightened by the time he had with Reis. They'd eaten together, sharing skins bulging with water that he'd brought and red apples that were growing in the northeastern part of the grove. Next time he planned to bring one of his favorite treats, just for variety. The conversation was enjoyable, as it always was. He hadn't felt compelled to break the lulls of silence that occasionally occurred, so comfortable as he was in her presence now. He was not close to many people, and so he valued what he shared with the young woman.

Yet, he felt a lingering sense of guilt over it as well.

It was an unwritten rule as a knight that he would not indulge in certain indiscretions. It was his job description as the Pillar of Morality that he would be the example of all that was good and worthy about a knight, including a strict adherence to each and every rule that governed a knight's behavior. Morals, that monochromatic beast that mankind had set free among themselves, was something he had never questioned the righteousness of. He was not going to now, of course; he and the Lady Reis were just friends.

And she had quite beautiful skin.

He sighed as he approached Murond's stables. He was certainly the upright pillar of morality, sneaking out of the castle on the pretext that he would roam the fields for game when instead he would meet with Reis at the grove. But he swore that this was as far as he was going to go; he was absolutely not, in any way, going to cross the line from 'slightly questionable but still justifiable' to 'plainly dishonorable'. But that was not going to stop him from visiting that fair maiden, not at all.

There never were a lot of people at any of the three halls' stables, particularly in Murond's case. This was due to the fact that most of the clergy had ended up renouncing their homes in order to come here; while being a member of the cloth was a right and good thing in the eyes of the believers, it was far less so in the eyes of the parents who had borne children in order to continue on the family line. There were also cases of abandonment for poor families who could not feed yet another hungry mouth; such children were taken in by the parish and subsequently set to Murond in order to learn the arts of the clergy or the knight. For all of the castle's grandeur, it housed more commoners than several large towns put together.

Rofel Wodring was one of these commoners. He was also present in the stables as Beowulf entered, chocobo in tow. "How was the hunt...hm, what could you possibly hunt without a crossbow?" Rofel asked. Inwardly, Beowulf sighed again. Nothing went unnoticed by the Pillar of Knowledge.

"I was hunting the elusive beauty of life," was the younger knight's reply as he guided the chocobo into its hold. To his own ears, the answer didn't sound half as silly as he had intended it to be.

"Ah, truly the most majestic hunt of all. Our young Holy Knight of the Hokuten was looking for you."

Somehow, that didn't surprise Beowulf. "It seems that he is not the only one." After removing the reins from the gentle bird, he closed the pen and smiled crookedly at the older man. "What can I do for you, Rofel?"

Rofel had kind eyes, although sometimes a cruel intelligence flickered in the dark color. Now, though, there was something dulling them. "Well, it seems that the Hokuten have done something worthy of mention. Zalbag himself apprehended the leaders of the Death Knights."

Beowulf raised an eyebrow at this, though his face otherwise held the look of neutrality. "That does sound praiseworthy."

"It only gets better from there. Apparently these two leaders were marching alongside both the younger Beoulve siblings, as well as their family's wards, and certain individuals from Orbonne Monastery. You may hear the rumor that one of them was Princess Ovelia herself."

"Of course, rumors often have an element of the truth."

"Naturally. Another rumor is that the captured Death Knights will be facing execution in a few days, if not tomorrow."

"That is...interesting," the Temple Knight murmured, crimson eyes narrowed. "Without even a trial of any sort?"

The other man only shook his head.

"That does not sound fair in the least. I understand Zalbag's craving for justice, but this method is almost as bad as those crimes those Death Knights have committed. What do you think, Rofel?"

"I think the same as yourself. However, that man will not listen to such an argument at this point. He was quite worried for the safety of his siblings, after all." There was a strange twinkle in Rofel's eyes as he continued with, "He thinks too much with his heart and not enough with morality, do you not think?"

Beowulf turned away, heading towards the door that led to Murond itself. When he touched the doorknob he turned slightly, his profile distinct with the gathering shadows hanging at the entrance. "I think the same as yourself."

He entered Murond, his cape fluttering behind him like the banner belonging to an invading force.

-0-

"How could you be so reckless?"

Agrias Oaks nearly winced at the question as it was thrown at her with all the force a reprimand should carry, but her training as a knight kept that reaction in check. During her journey to the castle she had often carried thoughts of a similar vein, though they had not been coated with the same seething anger as they were now. 

As a knight and the princess' bodyguard, she had vowed on her honor and good name to follow the princess' every word, but she had often privately wondered if the day would come that she would have to disobey an order on the reason that it did not serve the princess' best interests. Thankfully, the princess did not usually like to give orders, saving Agrias from having to act on this dilemma. Taking the princess back to the castle was one thing; they both knew that she could not impose on Bishop Simon's kindness even further; there were always new acolytes who needed the education only the monastery could provide. She had to return. Agrias could understand this. However, letting the Death Knights into their party was an order the lady knight had very nearly argued. But she hadn't, and now she could only wonder why. There was more than the princess' life at stake.

There was also the matter of Agrias' own knighthood.

"Well then, Lady Oaks? What would compel you to contemplate, not to talk of actually allowing the leaders of the Death Knights to travel with you? For your foolishness you risked not your own life, but the lives of those traveling with you." Zalbag Beoulve glared at her from across his desk, where she stood rock still. He hadn't offered her a seat.

She had unwittingly traveled with Wiegraf and Miluda Folles, the sibling leaders of the Death Knights. Agrias couldn't believe that, out of all the people 'Cadmus' and 'Lenneth' could've been, they were actually masking those infamous identities. She had only sensed a bit of it from the man, only because of how crisp and flawless his moves were in combat. If he had used one of the Holy Sword skills she would've known, as everyone knew that the leader of the Death Knights was a member of the rarest of elite knights, the White Knights. If she had seen that, she would've known. Perhaps that was why Wiegraf played the part of a deserting Death Knight; there was some sympathy to be had for the wayward.

Now she understood Miluda's words. In the days when the Folles siblings were commander and subcommander respectively of the Lionel Holy Knights, Miluda had acquired the unflattering nickname of Lionel's 'Bloody Valkyrie'. Agrias hadn't realized it until she had entered the castle walls, and since then she had been replaying the journey in her mind, picking out every clue, every hint with the fervor of one possessed.

"You are truly blessed, _Lady Oaks_," he enunciated her title of nobility, not once in the meeting referring to her as a knight of any sort, "that I have no command over the affairs of Lesalia's Royal Guard. If I had, I would have stripped your title of elite knighthood and cast you back to the novice league for your gross negligence and unforgivable lack of basic common sense! As it stands, I _will_ send a formal reprimand to the captain of the Guard--"

"--Sir Beoulve," she interrupted, the first time she had spoken since she had been ordered to appear before the Arc Knight. Zalbag's face darkened at the interjection, but the rules of chivarly forced him to yield to a woman, and with that in mind he gestured for her to continue. "Forgive my impudence, but I was following the order given to me by the princess."

Suddenly, Zalbag's face went blank. She could see the struggle in his eyes though, his righteous fury at battle with the duty all knights were expected to bear, the honor of following their liege to death. His lips thinned. "Get out."

"S-sir?" Despite all his yelling, he had still been icily polite to her. This was markedly different, and she hoped that it was the signal of change.

"Do you not know how to follow orders when they come from a knight?" He leaned over his desk, his hands planted on the top of the desk. "I can understand one's duty to their liege. However, you risked the lives of my family in order to achieve the ends of the princess, and that is unforgivable. Please leave, Lady Oaks."

She did so, stiffly and with her hands clenched at her sides. Nearly trembling in humiliation, she passed by the Beoulve and Hyral siblings, all four of them near the door to the Hokuten commander's office. Ignoring their looks of curiosity, she marched up to the turret that housed the Larg family, which now included Duke Larg's ward.

Agrias vowed not to tell the princess of this. It would only worry the girl. And, with the way the woman felt right now, she knew she could not be trusted in speaking of this without hurting her princess.

She wondered if the royalty could ever be hurt as much as their retainers.

-0-

Ramza Beoulve watched Agrias Oaks go, confusion settling in his heart. Was it just him, or did the Holy Knight look rather pained? Why, when she had just left Zalbag's office? "That is...a bit strange."

Delita Hyral had a different insight on what they had just seen. "No, I do not think so. It is expected, truth be told."

"I do not get it," Alma stated, frowning as she kept her eyes down the path the Holy Knight had disappeared to. "I would think that she had gotten praised for leading us back to the castle."

Delita turned a shrewd eye upon the blonde. "Even while walking alongside the Death Knights?"

The group quieted at this. The Death Knights that they had traveled with were the topic of the rumors that were spreading around the castle. However, the rumor wasn't with their identity. Everyone knew that already. They were Wiegraf and Miluda Folles, Lionel village's corrupted knights. Today's capture would surely embarrass the Order of Glabados; Murond had not done a single thing against the two, even though it was widely rumored at one time that they would strip Wiegraf of his White Knight title. The Pillars hadn't even remarked on why they were content with letting the elder Folles keep his elite knighthood after the attack on Limberry village.

To most cadets and clerics it was an issue of little importance, but since _they_ had traveled with that infamous duo...

Teta shook her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. "They did not seem like bad people," she said softly. Alma, next to the elder girl, nodded vigorously.

"Yes, exactly! Lenn...Miluda was a bit frightening at first, but it was mostly that mask that did it, really." Alma turned to her brother, her eyes pleading at him to agree with her. "And Ramza, what did you think of that man, Sir Folles? I mean, since you and Delita often had to hunt with him."

"Well," Ramza started slowly, "he was a quiet man, yet he was helpful to us when we needed it. Remember, Delita," he turned to the brunet and continued with, "that one time, when we were chasing down that porky? He did not lecture us for losing it, like my brothers would have done, but rather--"

"He gave us tips on how we could improve our sword swings, so that we could easily subdue a small beast like that one," Delita finished. "I understand how you feel, but do you think that Zalbag would listen to our pleas?"

Alma pouted at this. "Delita, stop being so realistic! I rather like the idea that we could do something important. Brother Zalbag is sometimes zealous, but he has a good heart and righteous morals, so he would at least listen to us..." She frowned as she noticed Delita's skeptical expression. "Stop that!"

A small chuckle escaped from Delita, and he mockingly bowed to his friend's sister. "As you wish, Lady Alma."

"Delita Hyral, you are incorrigible!"

Ramza laughed and Teta offered a small smile at the antics of their siblings. For some reason, Delita and Alma got along in the same manner little children did, talking happily one minute and mercilessly teasing each other the next. "Well, we are here at any rate," Ramza interrupted, easily drawing everyone's attention with the pleasant tone of his voice, "although I do not think that Zalbag would be so easily swayed by our opinion, we are allowed to find out their fate. And afterwards, we can have dinner and celebrate Teta's birthday. Right?"

Teta nodded shyly. "Thank you, Ramza."

They walked the few short feet to Zalbag's office. By mutual consensus it had been decided that Alma would knock on the door, an imposing wooden creation surrounded by the stone that had created the castle. She did so, adding a, "Brother, may we talk to you, or are you too busy to see us?" to soften him up. Being the only girl child of the Beoulve siblings, she had found from an early age that a little charm and guilt tripping went a long way in getting what she wanted.

A few minutes passed without response. _He has finally done it_, Ramza thought, _Zalbag has finally killed himself with his work_. The door swung open after another moment, the Arc Knight's face showing more of his daily stresses than usual. "I am sorry," he said in a formal tone, his eyes softening as he gazed at the group gathered in front of his office. "What can I do for you?"

"Brother," Alma whispered, her tone pensive, "what are you going to do about the...people we traveled with?"

"The Death Knights, you mean?" There was a harsh timbre running through Zalbag's usually moderate voice. "They will be executed for their crimes against Ivalice, naturally."

The four teenagers had various looks of surprise on their faces; even Delita, who had predicted such a response, seemed disapproving. Beside him, Teta said nothing, looking down at her shoes and hiding her face, a tactic she employed when she felt strongly about something but wished to not offend anyone with her thoughts. Ramza and Alma had twin disturbed expressions on their faces. "It seems so soon, brother," Ramza finally offered, inwardly wincing when his elder brother shot a piercing glare at him.

"It is only justice," Zalbag said. "They were the ones who started the Death Knights, willfully opposing the order the castle brings upon the country. It was because of them that we knew fear after we had enjoyed peace for decades. They invaded Limberry and tore through the villagers--the very same people they claimed to defend!" His gaze swept over the children who stood before him, his expression darkening. "It is none of your concern. Obviously, you are all still too young to understand the importance of there is to mete out punishment to those who deserve it. That is what keeps all of us safe, after all."

The commander's last two sentences hurt the cadets especially, wounding them with their age and inexperience. Teta was now closely examining her shoes in an effort to distance herself from the harsh words. Strangely enough, Alma was unmoved; due to her straightforward nature, lectures tended not to have an effect on her. "But Zalbag," she argued in an impassioned way, "they said that they had information. Surely you would listen to them for that--"

"Enough," he said, an edge to his tone that made the youngest Beoulve wince as if she'd been cut. The Arc Knight did not take lightly to insubordination, whether it came from his troops or his family. Outwardly, he tended to treat them the same. "I have work to do, and I am sure you have other things to do now that you have returned."

"Oh, of course. My 'Lord Brother' always has more important things than his own family," Alma sniped back, though it was without her usual fire. Ramza almost interceded at this point; some of the greatest family arguments began with an off-the-cuff remark from the youngest Beoulve. Happily enough for him, Zalbag looked too weary to take the bait.

"Good, run along now and be a good child," Zalbag drawled before returning to his office, closing the door behind him. Completely forgetting her good upbringing, Alma angrily stamped her foot down, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Well, that was a remarkable showing," Delita muttered, crossing his arms and sending a look of disbelief at the youngest of the group. "Alma, I do not think that will get you anywhere."

Ramza shook his head. "It is too bad." He glanced at Teta, who was doing a fine job of looking lost and alone among a group of people, and tried to smile for her sake. "Teta, you should see the present I got you. I believe you will like it more than Delita's gift."

"Excuse me?" Delita asked, a small smile creeping up the corners of his lips despite himself. "Teta, you will definitely like my present more."

Teta smiled, especially once Alma got into the fray. It was a good portent to see a smile on her normally solemn face, but as they walked away Ramza could not help but feel disturbed by the recent events. Zalbag knew what he was doing, Ramza believed. At the same time, the young cadet couldn't help but feel, deep in his heart of hearts, that his capable elder brother was wrong.

But if Zalbag was wrong and the Death Knights were right, what was the fate that would befall Ivalice once the executioner's ax fell?

-0-

Below the structure of the castle existed a great network of tunnels that twined and intersected each other while leading to all sorts of odd places in each of the three halls; the exception was the marketplace, which was based in the main entrance of the castle, directly underneath the royal quarters. Not one person in the castle knew exactly where each tunnel led, and there were secrets that had been untouched since the day the castle had been blessed for the final time. What was known was that each hall had its own private dungeon somewhere within the sprawl, and that once a person entered one of these dungeons it was a blessing if they were allowed to die within a day. They were places of absolute filth and decay, where tortures could be performed without the screams of the prisoner rising beyond the ground and disturbing those that slept in the castle proper. Light from magic fire fixtures flickered lazily within the darkness, dying just as slowly as those cast away in this den of the unforgiven.

It was dark. That was all Wiegraf Folles knew.

This was because of the scratchy sack the Hokuten had tied over his head, closing it off with a thick length of rope hastily tied around his neck. It was tight, and if it weren't for the porous nature of the bag he knew that he would've been dead before he ever reached the executioner. From his youth, he knew that the bag was the kind used to hold potatoes for shipping. The thought made him hungry, but he he knew that food was a luxury unknown to those who languished here. His arms were tied behind his back with the same sort of rope that threatened to close his windpipe. It was one arm's wrist to the elbow of the other, bound together so tightly that there was a constant ache in the upper joints of his arms. Even his hands were bound through the use of a thinner cord that yanked his fingers up and aligned to his upper arms. It was cutting into the joints of his fingers, and he knew that moving his fingers would cost in blood. His legs were bound too, done with three sets of rope tied around his thighs, just below his knees and his ankles.

This was the way all prisoners of the castle were treated, helplessly bound and awaiting their turn before the ax.

He knew that his sister shared the same cell in the chilly dungeon; he had heard the thump her body had made when they threw her in. The sound of her breathing was apparent, and that comforted him. It was his fault she had come with him here, but he had still allowed her to follow him even though he knew that this hellhole was their likeliest destination. But he had to come here, regardless of his fate.

At least he had tried.

Miluda was coming around now, something he could easily tell by the sound of metal banging against the cool stone. The Hokuten apparently hadn't bothered to remove her gauntlets and greaves and God knows what else she was wearing underneath her dress. He was thankful for this, that the Hokuten were still decent enough not to inappropriately touch his little sister. Mission or not, that would've been unforgivable.

"Ah...nn...dammit..." He sighed inwardly as the sounds she was making filtered through the sack and entered his ears. Of course the first coherent word out of her mouth would be a curse. "M'head...Wie..."

He lowered his head, careful to make sure that the rope around his neck didn't cut off his oxygen. "Miluda, I'm here." The words were said hoarsely. He wanted water, and knew that the likeliness that such a boon would be granted to him before their execution was nonexistent. He knew someone who had worked in the castle's dungeon; a sad job, to be sure, but there was money in it, especially during an insurrection. He wondered how much the current jailer was going to receive for holding Ivalice's corrupted White Knight, the first in the country's existence.

"M'head's...ringin'...can't focus..." Miluda muttered, her words slurred. Wiegraf was momentarily worried that she'd been hit even harder than he'd imagined, but his practical side knew that it didn't matter compared to their fate. "This...gaol?"

"Yes. I suspect we're inside the castle's dungeon, beneath the surface."

"Nn. Arms, this bag...execution-style?"

"Yes. I've heard that Zalbag has an aversion to torture." He took in as deep a breath as he could manage, then continued. "We'll probably be killed tomorrow."

"No!" Her shout echoed along the walls, filling the room--whatever the size--with her protest. "I can't! Sally...we still need to avenge Sally!" She broke down then, coughing brutally and trying her hardest to gasp between each fit.

"They won't listen to us," he explained patiently, "the Hokuten will never listen to us. If we had gotten into Murond like we planned, then this wouldn't have happened. As it is, there's not much hope for us."

"Comforting, brother," she spat venomously. "Given up? You? I won't, no matter what you say!"

This time he did sigh loudly. If he was going to die in mere hours from now, he was not going to spend his remaining time arguing with his only family. "I know. I'm just being realistic. If we're able to get out, I promise we'll avenge her as well as the others."

"That's what you said before, when we saved that princess."

"And I meant it. Salia was my friend too."

Silence reigned over the two, their conversation having a strain on their ability to breathe. Wiegraf tried to sit back in a certain way, leaning back so that his weight rested on his shoulders in an effort to alleviate the pain that was radiating from his arms. This was a futile effort, and he briefly entertained lying on the ground before tossing away that plan. It would've been hard to get back into a sitting position with his arms and legs bound.

He had known things could go this horribly wrong, and yet he had gone ahead. Unlike his sister, however, he was not motivated by revenge. He had just wanted to right a wrong.

There was an ominous clanking sound in the distance. He wondered if it was already time for their executions, even though he had calculated that they had been bound down here for only over a few hours. Perhaps Zalbag had wanted them to be killed without even being made an example of; an evening execution would spoil the appetites of the ladies, after all. Uncharacteristically, he was feeling more than a little bitter over being denied an audience to die in front of. At least then he would've been able to divulge the secret burning within him, and maybe someone would bother to act on it.

And if not, let them all die. Except for a select few, he had no love for nobles.

The clanking noise was getting louder, and it was accompanied by the heavy steps of someone who detested physical labor. The clanking and the ponderous footsteps stopped somewhere in the area, and Wiegraf noted the new sound of a key being placed in a keyhole. Squeaky hinges protested with a hideous screech, and the footsteps became louder. Due to his finely honed senses, Wiegraf could feel the presence of someone in his vicinity, made all the more apparently when a pair of hands began to roughly handle the ropes that bound his legs together. These were undone in a prompt manner, and the hands moved to rip off the ropes and cord around his arms and hands next. There was the matter of the sack over his head, but the hands ignored this in favor of yanking him up on his feet.

"Follow me." Wiegraf noted that the voice belonged to an older man who, oddly enough, sounded almost bored. Dutifully, the knight followed on stiff legs where the man pulled him to. "Stand here and I'll get to work on your sis. Don't bother touching the bag."

Mercifully, Miluda was not in the mood to fight with the man, and soon she was led out and made to stand by her brother. It was there when the man undid the ropes that held the sacks closed over their heads. It was an unsettling experience for Wiegraf; even though the dungeon was dark, there were balls of magic fire encapsulated within glass hung throughout the hall they were in, the mediocre light enough to bother his sensitive eyes.

"Well, your freedom's just down that passageway," the man, who was everything Wiegraf had predicted and then some, said while pointing down a crooked hallway to his right. "And," the man lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, "you two are a disappointment. I thought you were gonna give the nobility their what-for, and instead you accost your own people?"

"I apologize," Wiegraf said crisply before stalking down the path shown to them. Miluda followed, looking forward in a very deliberate manner.

"That's just what Zalbag had said, wasn't it? About Limberry?" she questioned once they had gotten a safe distance away from the jailer.

"Hm. It'll always be 'our fault', don't you think?"

"I suppose in a way it really was. But this is suspicious, don't you think?"

"Being let out in such a prompt manner? I agree."

"Perhaps Zalbag means to frame us for another sort of crime? Or perhaps someone else's plot?"

"I hardly consider it a 'plot'," a third voice piped up, and both siblings rounded the next corner in a hurry once they recognized this new voice.

"Beowulf!" Miluda exclaimed, rushing to the other man's side. Wiegraf couldn't resist smiling, though he hung back and studied the man before him. A close childhood friend of the Folles siblings, nevertheless neither of them had seen Beowulf in the golden Shrine Knight armor, complete with the detailed white surcoat that marked him as the Pillar of Morality and one of four leaders of Murond's military faction.

"I would have been here sooner, if not for the fact that it is very hard to put this armor together. Also, apparently executions do not need to be performed with a sense of morality, however much I disagree with that notion," Beowulf explained before glancing at Miluda's face. He frowned. "Miluda, that is quite the bruise..." He reached down and lightly touched her left temple, a burst of luminescence exploding from his fingertips and nearly blinding Wiegraf in the process.

"Well, you really didn't have to worry. I mean, a bruise is such a small thing to a knight," Miluda protested, though her face expressed the immense relief she felt at his healing touch that her pride wouldn't allow. Beowulf nodded obligingly, turning to Wiegraf for an explanation.

"Miluda decided that it would be a smart idea to pull a sword on Zalbag."

The lady knight smiled wistfully, though the meaning was obscured by the shadows that had settled over most of her face. "I wasn't thinking, he means to say. I couldn't help it, it was just how that spoiled little noble couldn't even be bothered to listen to us before condemning us to death."

Beowulf nodded. "Speaking of which, we should keep walking. It would not do us any good to be caught here by a Hokuten." They began walking at a steady clip, the siblings a half-step behind their friend. After a bit Beowulf couldn't resist asking, "Why did you come here, anyway? As much as I would like to say that you are both welcome here...well, I dislike lying."

"We have some information that we would like to pass onto someone of authority," Wiegraf answered, hesitating by a breath before continuing, "It would be preferable if we could talk to Zalbag, seeing how the Hokuten seem so willing to persecute the Death Knights."

"In all honesty, you are not liked by the Nanten either, after Limberry," Beowulf quietly informed him. "Limberry is technically a province of Zeltennia, after all. But you are right, the Hokuten are the ones pursuing the Death Knights. Sir Zalbag has even been so bold as to confront me, considering the past we three share."

Miluda shook her head at this. "He's like a mad cuar, frothing at the mouth at anyone who crosses his path. Do you really think he'll listen to us, Wiegraf?"

"It has to be done," was his curt reply. Beowulf threw a side glance at him before returning his attention to the path ahead.

"You both must be hungry. Murond is the safest place for you, and I suspect that Rofel would like to talk to you before the night is over. In the morning I will try to convince Sir Zalbag to meet with you on equal terms." He looked at his friends and smiled. It was a comforting gesture to Wiegraf, who knew that the older man was a poor liar.

"You don't even want to know...?" Miluda asked, looking somewhat perplexed.

"You can tell me, if you like." There was a door ahead, and Beowulf tugged it open. "Welcome to Murond hall," he said, bowing extravagantly. Miluda laughed, the first time Wiegraf had heard it since their long journey months before. He took it as an good omen; perhaps things would become more auspicious now.

"Thank you," Wiegraf told Beowulf after Miluda had walked past them, into Murond proper. "I wasn't hopeful."

"You, the eternal idealist?" Beowulf clasped the other man's shoulder. "You have saved me many times before, back home. It is the least I can do now."

Wiegraf agreed with the sentiment. It was similar to the thought that had brought him to Orbonne, and now to the castle.

It was the least he could do now.

It was the only thing he could now.

-End to Chapter Seven-

I have summaries up to the eleventh chapter, and I've decided to go ahead and make this a weekly serial despite not having the full summaries completed. I don't want to drag this series out as a biweekly much longer, or else I'll be writing this story into the next year. 

-Egg on my face: I screwed up with Orlandu's job class translation by believing someone else's word. After I got the idea recently to check the kanji, I realized that 'Holy Swordsman' wouldn't be completely off because Orlandu's 'kensei' class uses the reading for 'sei' that means 'holy'. 'Sword Saint' is what I've heard another person use, but now I'm curious as to what sort of 'saint' would use the Night Sword skillset. It's my mistake, but I rather like 'Swordmaster', probably because of Seiken Densetsu 3's Swordmaster class. If someone's so outraged because of this, I'll change it, but I'm inclined to keep it as it is now.

Reviewers!

A Moment of Silence (this would be to the anonymous reviewer whose name consisted of a number of dots), thanks for the comment. I've heard the same thing about VP having a chance at being rereleased. I guess there's a good chance at it; they rereleased Xenogears as a GH when I seriously doubt it sold enough copies to get to that level.

Hey, Luna. I'm kinda glad you weren't all like, "Those Death Knights were Wiegraf and Miluda? Well duh, I figured that out the minute they showed up!" because then my sensitive artist's soul would've collapsed. I can't relate to having an older brother or being an elder sister, I'm an only child. But I'm enjoying feeling out how Zalbag would feel, since even in-game he seems more protective and dependable than, say, Dycedarg. Sibling bonds matter a lot in this story; it's really the best thing about the game, so why change that? I'm glad to read that you're interested in how the story will progress. With this kind of story, it's really hard for me to tell how people are taking the overall plot.  
Oh, and I was smiling after I read your review of _Training Days_. I feel the same way you do about FFT and romance...the game just doesn't inspire pairings. Well, it does, but they don't feel right. That's why I like it so much; it's nice to think beyong putting two characters together at a whim.  
Hey, are you going to this year's Otakon, by any chance? A friend of mine and I are planning a cross-country road trip for it, but since it's in August this year it's pretty inconvenient.

Hello, Hawk of Death! Yeah, I figured you'd be caught off-guard by that scene. Can't say that there will be any other 'shocker' type scenes though...because then it wouldn't be a surprise!  
Thanks for your review of _Training Days_, by the way.

Hi, Trueborn Chaos. Nah, if I can help it I won't be using OCs in this story unless it's someone I've named and attempted to make a personality for in WHW. There's just so many characters to use from the game that I'd like to keep it as pure as possible. I didn't know about Orlan's involvement with the Triple Triad game in VIII, probably because I hated that minigame. Cards were only good for refining, as far as I was concerned, and the Card command existed. I do know about IX using most of Tactics' equips and I've submitted at the FFCompendium before.  
And with that being said, thank you for your review of _Training Days_, and I especially appreciate your pointing out that error. It's been fixed.


	9. 8: Stripping the Corpse

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming) 

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.

Chapter Eight: Stripping the Corpse

The morning was overcast, a sky that was normally a clear blue canvas now distorted with gray splatters and splotches tinged by a refreshing swipe of white. Though the clouds made for a bleak atmosphere, they appeared more fluffy than dense, puff pastries waiting to be consumed by the unyielding appetite of the rising sun. Yesterday's rumors persisted into today, and just like the clouds there were new developments that stunted Gallionne's celebration. Or, to be more exact, the Hokuten's celebration. The military faction hadn't revealed to the denizens of the blue and gold shrouded halls that there was nothing to be proud of anymore.

Murond had stolen their prisoners.

It was a very disappointing development, particularly to the higher ranks of the faction. They knew that their commander would not act against Murond, entrenched as he was in the Glabados faith. Those who had served under the last two leaders of the Hokuten, Balbanes and Dycedarg respectively, freely commented on whether their current leader's father or brother would've actively gone against Murond's increasingly bewildering behavior; it was obvious to those in the peanut gallery that Murond was adamant on protecting its own. The opinion was unanimous among the elder knights that Balbanes would've dealt with it quietly but firmly, because he had been a truly honorable man who would have never been able to tolerate such an audacious display of coddling enemies of the country. No one could really comment on Dycedarg, considering that he hadn't been at the post of commander for all that long before being replaced by Zalbag. However, it was commonly held that he would've done something. If Zalbag wanted to continue to be respected by his troops he would have to act soon. Everyone understood faith and keeping with one's religious beliefs, but Murond was beginning to overstep itself and something had to be done. After all, to these Gallionnians Murond wasn't a true hall anyway.

When Beowulf Kadmus strode into Gallionne just before eight in the morning, he was greeted by a host of suspicious glances from the guards. He kept a stoic look upon his face while wondering how he was going to bring his friends into Gallionne without starting a riot. Judging by how many scowling faces he was now counting, he thought it would be more prudent to ask Zalbag to come with him to Murond. He knew that it was a longshot that the Hokuten commander would even grant an audience with Wiegraf and Miluda, not to talk of being willing to be perceived as weak by actively going to Murond to seek their knowledge.

Inwardly, the Temple Knight sighed. He hated politics.

He reached Zalbag's office, still unsure of how to approach the Arc Knight in a way that would generate the best results. Barging in would be a very good way to get thrown out of Gallionne, but judging by the attitudes of some of the knights there was the possibility of being ignored if he decided to knock beforehand. Such a dilemma, such a horrible dilemma when it was still early and everything rested on him and he was so very indecisive...

"Is there something you want?"

_Thank God_, Beowulf thought as he noticed Zalbag standing before him; the other man was apparently returning to the office. "I would like to have a word with you," the Shrine Knight said, pouncing on the opportunity with great relief. While he was intelligent, he preferred not to make a decision before taking the time to fully plot out the consequences of each choice he could make. This was partly why he had decided to leave his leadership duties in Lionel for a subordinate role in the castle, though that hadn't worked out like he had thought it would.

Zalbag, unlike his subordinates, seemed rather subdued at the moment. "You did not wish to talk before," he stated.

"You were accusing me of being an accessory in the tragedy of Limberry," Beowulf replied, his demeanor calm, "something no one would like to have their name connected to." He paused, then smiled slightly. "Not even Wiegraf or Miluda."

This piece of news seemed to hit upon the right note within the young commander, for he simply opened the door to his office and waved the Temple Knight in. After they took their seats, Zalbag affixed Beowulf with a piercing glare. "Why should I believe you?"

"Why should you not?"

"You would seek to defend them, considering your long-standing friendship with the both of them. You even made Wiegraf Folles the leader of the Lionel Holy Knights before you departed for the castle. Despite your title, you are still a human bound by his ties."

"We all are," Beowulf idly commented, glancing around the bare room and wishing for a color other than dimmed ivory. "I may be just a human, but I earned my title, just as Wiegraf earned his title as a White Knight."

Something dark flinched within Zalbag's eyes, and Beowulf knew he had struck a nerve. It was common knowledge that Balbanes Beoulve had been one of the most honored White Knights in Ivalician history; so honored, in fact, that he was given the additional title of 'Heavenly Knight' to emphasize the purity that was his very soul. Even with that, White Knights were very rare to begin with. The odds were perhaps one out of a hundred that a Holy Knight would be recognized for their extraordinary strength of will, awe-inspiring integrity and craving to help others even beyond their own needs. This Holy Knight would be blessed by Murond's High Priest as a White Knight, though the two elite knights shared the same skillset. Wiegraf had been the last honored with the title, as Holy Knights were fairly rare to begin with.

It was also commonly known that Zalbag had been denied that honor.

"The White Knight..." Zalbag shook his head as his sense of control came rushing back into his gaze, something that interested the Temple Knight. Invoking that elite title really did have an interesting effect on the Arc Knight. "Why he was able to keep his title after Limberry I will never understand."

"It is confidential." Beowulf inwardly smiled as he remembered the voting process. He had not been allowed to vote due to his personal involvement, and Vormav generally kept out of such small affairs. In the end it had been just Rofel, but it was just as official as anything else.

Zalbag nodded, a faint touch of suspicion lingering along his features. "So Rofel has said."

"So then, what is your decision on the matter? They are more than willing to talk to you."

"Are you sure I really have a say in this?" Zalbag asked, his tone sarcastic. Beowulf could understand why, though he took no pleasure in it. "And who will Murond assign as the mediator?"

"I will oversee the meeting, if you do not mind."

"You are a mediator?"

"In practice, we are all mediators." The Temple Knight decided to adopt a serious tone as he continued with, "Besides, in this case it would definitely be more prudent to keep as many foreign ears out of this as possible. It is...delicate information."

While there was a trace of bitterness in the Hokuten commander's eyes, Beowulf could see that the younger man was trying to be as receptive as possible, particularly once he had heard the last line about 'delicate information'. "If that is so, then I want to see them as quickly as they are able."

Beowulf nodded and rose from his seat. "Then, they will be here shortly."

-0-

_Yesterday, I wanted to execute them. Today, I will be talking to them as equals._

It hurt.

Zalbag had always thought himself a reliable leader. He held no illusions regarding comparison between his father's years as the Hokuten commander and his own; it would take a long time before he would even begin to approach his father's accomplishments as the Holy Knight of the Hokuten. He was proud of himself thus far, and he continually strove to follow his father's footsteps, but this time he knew that he had made a mistake somewhere.

It was embarrassing to have his prisoners taken the very day he had thrown them into the dungeon. He knew that the Temple Knight had done this, but he could not harbor a grudge towards the man for this action. He should've expected it, and later today he planned to look over the security protocols and find a way to strengthen the guards so that it would not take someone with a high rank and a clever mind to take his prisoners.

_-I may be just a human, but I earned my title, just as Wiegraf earned his title as a White Knight_-

White Knight Wiegraf Folles, mastermind of the most brutal attack on a territory of Ivalice by someone who was Ivalician by birthright. Zalbag had never understood why the commoner from Lionel was granted such a title in the first place. When he had first heard about it years ago, he had traveled to Lionel in order to find out what made this man so special as to receive that honor, and consequently what he himself had lacked. All he had found was an intensely proud commoner who was polite, but not the beacon of kindness that his own father had been. When Wiegraf began recruiting for his 'Death Knights', Zalbag knew something suspicious was up. However, he had never acted, believing in the worth of the title in lieu of the worth of the man.

And Limberry had suffered for his naivety.

Three knocks resounded from the door, interrupting his brooding. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he decided to stay seated. They were still Death Knights; he would not rise for their kind. "Come in," he called, and the door creaked open in response.

The first one he noticed was the woman who had foolishly tried to pull a sword on him the day before. She had been a metallic demon then, all silver and green with a gleaming dragon for a face. Today, however, there was an important difference: her face was bare. Eyes the color of Ordalia's famous turquoise jewelry glittered fiercely from underneath tousled bangs. She was glowering at him, a phenomena Zalbag was unused to. The noble ladies of the court always wore pleasantly bland faces around him, and they were able to conjure primp little smiles at a marriage opportunity's notice. This woman had life blazing on her attractive face, and if it weren't for the thinly veiled anger aflame in her eyes Zalbag would've been charmed by her, even though she was just a commoner.

He might have been charmed anyway, regardless of her attitude.

The thought bothered him, just like the new presence of the woman's brother. Zalbag couldn't help but notice their very similar appearance, from their angular facial features down to the tint of their blond hair, and he wondered how the princess' bodyguard could've walked with them for days without realizing who it was she was allying herself with. That was when he picked up on another item of notice: the natural confidence that exuded from the siblings. They were on his home turf, they were the criminals...yet judging by their stances they were proud of who they were and didn't bother concealing their self-satisfaction.

That annoyed Zalbag.

He dimly noticed their self-appointed mediator, who was standing to the left of the woman. Her brother stood at her other side, and the Arc Knight couldn't help but wonder why they were flanking her when it would've made more sense to place the leader of the Death Knights or the Murond knight in the middle. Letting go of the thought, he gestured for them to sit down before he reached for a quill and tapped it against the ink bottle it eternally rested beside. He preferred to take his own notes since he was more meticulous at such a duty than the hired recorders. He wrote down the date and the people involved in today's discussion in his slanted handwriting before letting his gaze settle on the three before him. The woman was still glowering at him; the men had equally neutral expressions. "Is there something you would like to say before we begin...Miss Folles?" Zalbag asked, already tired of her relentless glare. He felt he had more of a right to wanton anger at the moment than she did.

There was a shared look between Wiegraf and the Temple Knight before their attention focused on the woman between them. In a moment that seemed like eternity, there was a mounting pressure between the two men who silently stared at the lady knight who balanced precariously between giving into the strange hate glittering in her light eyes and a peace that seemed all too rare for her.

Slowly, thoughtfully, she pursed her lips before crisply saying, "Not at all."

Suddenly, Zalbag understood why she was in the middle.

"...I am glad to hear it," he said with a touch of wariness. He looked down at his paper and scribbled, _Miluda Folles, probably unmanageable for information. Hostile._ "Before we begin, I have a few questions that I would like to clear up," the Arc Knight gritted his teeth before continuing with, "if that is alright with you."

"It is fine," said Wiegraf, his cool tone bothering Zalbag more than his sister's fiery glare.

"Explain to me the original purpose of the Death Knights, as per your...vision." _Were you always murderers? Did you just grow bored and decided that Limberry would prove to be more entertaining?_ The thoughts nearly became words, accusations that he had thought in his mind countless times since the day of the attack. It would have been detrimental to speak his mind, which made him realize that, just for this moment, he was uncomfortably like the woman who now kept her gaze deliberately away from him.

"As you wish." Wiegraf said politely. "The Death Knights were supposed to be for the commoners as the Hokuten and Nanten are for the nobility. We have always been forced to depend on the graciousness of the castle forces to grant support to the villages, particularly in disputes involving the so-called 'lower class'." The last words were spoken harshly, the first real emotional display from the White Knight since Zalbag had the Hokuten knights surround him and his sister. "The province of Lionel is fortunate in this regard, compared to places like Dorter and Zarghidas."

Zalbag narrowed his eyes at the implication. The words were not undeserved; as popular trading posts, both towns had invited a certain stench of corruption along with the goods. Dorter was controlled by a mayoral post set up by the crown while Zarghidas was ruled under the direct control of Duke Goltana of Zeltennia hall, but even with such weighty command the towns had such problems like zoning disputes between the nobles and commoners, black markets and illegal trade, overinflation of goods and certain unacceptable debaucheries to appeal to the foreigners. The only other trade town, Warjilis of Lionel, was virtually clean due to the efforts of Cardinal Draclau and the commoner-filled Lionel Holy Knights. The Hokuten were not involved in either Dorter or Zarghidas, but Zalbag was still irritated.

"So then," he started, forcibly keeping his thoughts on the matter before him, "you thought to create a nation-wide network of commoner knights based upon the style of the Lionel Holy Knights. Is that it?"

"Yes. In this day and age, we do not believe in needing to depend on the nobility when we ourselves are able to take care of our own problems," Wiegraf replied.

_Death Knights' goal to support commoners using commoners_, the Arc Knight wrote down, pondering on the idealism of the words he was hearing. They sounded wonderful, but the schism between Wiegraf's words and the recent actions of the Death Knights bothered him. "And as for the name?" he asked dryly.

"It's called intimidation," Miluda said in a flat tone. "The world outside the castle is a very dangerous place. Fight fire with fire. I'm sure even you can understand that."

"Miluda," Beowulf whispered in a warning tone. Zalbag looked at his notation on the lady knight and underlined 'hostile'.

"At any rate, your group attacked Limberry." Even though this statement was the entire reason for the meeting at hand, the Hokuten commander noticed a subtle current of...surprise? Whatever it was, it caused the siblings to tense, and even their castle-dwelling friend lowered his gaze. "Why?" Zalbag pressed on.

There was a grim, thin-lipped smile on Miluda's face. "We were betrayed."

"It is a little more complicated than that," Wiegraf commented, appearing to have focused his attention on his sister for the moment. "I still believe-"

"It doesn't matter what you believe, Wiegraf! It still happened!" Miluda snapped back, focused fury flitting about her features. She looked as if she was about to say more, but the Temple Knight leaned over and whispered something in her ear. "Right, I haven't forgotten," she muttered, her gaze flickering towards Zalbag's face for the barest of moments before closing her eyes in something that resembled defeat. "Go ahead."

Wiegraf looked completely unfazed; Zalbag guessed that the upcoming account was a point of contention between the two. "Less than a year ago, we left the service of the Lionel Holy Knights and began recruiting for the Death Knights. It was going better than expected, and we had the support of many different kinds of warriors. While a lot of our initial soldiers were young men and women from the more rural areas, and therefore novices to battle, we also managed to entreat a number of more experienced knights. Some of them were mercenaries, and although they were used to risking their lives for coin, they understood our viewpoint and decided to fight for a cause.

"In Igros village, we met a mercenary named Gaff Gafgarion and his companion. They agreed to join us without a question." The White Knight (though Zalbag still had a hard time reconciling that title with the green-clad man before him) glanced at his sister, who was listening to his narration without a word of input. "I suppose that was the first indicator that something was amiss. At the time, however, we were only optimistic, particularly in regards to the fact that Gafgarion seemed to be a powerful ally."

_Gaff Gafgarion...?_ The name was not a familiar one to the Hokuten commander, even though Igros was under Gallionne and Duke Larg. He made a note of it, then dipped his quill into the inkwell. "Why would you suppose a thing like that?" he asked.

"Because he was a Dark Knight," Miluda answered. "An elite knight is always a valuable asset, after all."

_I would hardly call that elite_, Zalbag thought in disgust. Such a class was anathema to everything he held dear, down to the abilities of the Night Sword skill set. Those who fed off of the life and mana of others were no better than ravens after the battle. "So then, this...man betrayed you?"

"Not just him," Wiegraf answered, his voice subdued. "But I have not gotten to that point yet. Gafgarion and his charge ingratiated themselves into the ranks, but we were occupied with finding a permanent place for our base of operations, as well as support from a sympathetic noble outside of Lionel. Using our connections, we were able to get in touch with Marquis Elmdor, who was willing to hear us out."

That made sense to Zalbag. Mesdoram Elmdor was a refined man, someone who could be used to define the heart of nobility. Despite his rank and affluence, due to his life as a country lord and his affiliation with Murond he was far more tolerant of the commoner class than most aristocrats were. "So, you went to Limberry," Zalbag stated.

"Yes, in full force. This last winter had been harsher than usual, and we had needed even a temporary place to stay. When we arrived..." Wiegraf paused. "Miluda."

"...You see, I'm...I was the second-in-command. And I earned that right," she said hastily, as if the Arc Knight had immediately disbelieved her. "There was another man who was high in the chain of command. His name is Gustav Margueriff, and he had been a part of the Lionel Holy Knights since Beowulf was their commander. He's hated me since the day I joined their ranks as a squire, and I guess he hated it even more that my brother would have me as second-in-command instead of himself."

Zalbag felt he was missing the point. "Why?"

"...Why?" she repeated, the look on her face clearly revealing how stupid she thought him to be. "Because I'm a woman, that's why." She shook her head, wavy tresses bouncing with the movement. "The point is, he joined up with Gafgarion because of this, and they decided that Limberry was when they were going to overthrow my brother and I. They'd gotten much of the troops on their side, and we were only able to escape with a few others."

"They destroyed a large part of the town, and suddenly all our hard work for legitimization was for naught," Wiegraf stated, his tone bland. "Your Hokuten were after us as the insignators of that day, perfectly playing into whatever Gafgarion had planned. However, Miluda had picked up that Gafgarion had a much larger scheme in mind, and that was to assassinate the princess. So, we staked out Orbonne and waited."

At these words, Zalbag paused in his note-taking. Their story was almost believable up to now, but it was this last point that made no sense. "Why would a commoner want to harm the princess?" he asked, searching for anything within the siblings' eyes that would reveal their deceit. "She may be a titled member of the royal family, but on her own she has no real power to affect anything."

"Correct me if I am wrong..." Wiegraf started, "I know very little about the convoluted aristocratic monarchy system, but perhaps there is a chance she could adopt power if the right person was using her?"

"Why would anyone want to do that? Prince Orinas is the rightful heir to the throne. After all, he is an Atkascha by blood," Zalbag countered, disliking the question the man had posed. It whispered of ugly things in Ivalice's future.

"The princess is royal by blood as well," Beowulf gently reminded him. "She is the late king's sister and the original heir before the prince was born."

Zalbag shot the Temple Knight a nasty look. "Mediators should know their place."

"...Hm. I apologize."

"Anyway, I do not deal in conspiracy theories. Is that all?" Just as he thought, there was no reason to believe them.

Miluda stood, her face a beacon of disbelief. Though his vision was mostly filled with imposing lady knight, Zalbag noticed the Temple Knight about to reach out to the woman. Just as suddenly, the Shrine Knight aborted the action. He had no time to ponder this before Miluda let loose a tirade upon him. "Are you naturally an idiot, or is there something in the castle air that turns you nobles into self-entitled morons who can't think beyond your noses? The Death Knights under Gafgarion's charge tried to kill the princess! They tried to kill your brother and sister, and if it weren't for us you'd be making funeral arrangements right now! Obviously, there is something very wrong with the state of things if people are trying to kill a former heir to the throne and members of one of the most well-known noble families in the country!" She crossed her arms and glared down at him, her brilliant eyes flashing in anger. "Now, you can either do your job and stop any further attacks or you can keep blaming us for all your damn problems. Which one will it be?"

Zalbag's tolerance did not extend to being shouted at by a traitor to all that was good in Ivalice. He leaned forward, anger and irritation churning within his eyes. "I do not have to do a thing if I do not have evidence."

"Gafgarion was hired by someone in this very castle to subvert the Death Knights to his cause. Your own family members can substantiate that the cause was to eliminate the princess. Would you argue with that?" she retorted, a challenge implicit in her tone.

He couldn't. Both his brother and Delita had recounted the words of the squire leader shortly before the group of Death Knights had attacked.

_-We don't wish for this to come down to a fight. Just hand over the princess and we'll leave the rest of you alone_-

But if it was true that the mercenary Gafgarion had been hired by someone in the castle who wished to eliminate the princess from ever ending up on the throne, then that someone either wanted to maximize the prince's chance of becoming king or...

No. He was not going to go down this path. Only Gallionne was involved with the throne at this point, and no one of Gallionne would stoop to such evil acts. Members of the Beoulve family-his own brother and sister-had been present. No one of Gallionne would even think of shedding the blood of their premier knight family.

_-Send Ramza and Delita in their stead. It would be good for them to leave the castle every now and then_-

_No._

"I will not argue the fact," he replied, his tone hard. "But you have not provided me with the name of whoever this Gafgarion could be working for. In that case, what would you have me to do?"

The woman sat down, the anger draining away from her face. Zalbag watched with interest as she turned to her brother. Brother and sister seemed to communicate without words, and he felt an odd pang at this. Finally, they turned to look at him, their gazes heavy with anguish.

"Sir Beoulve, you may never believe me, but this is not what I intended of my dream," Wiegraf said, his voice low. "Whatever you may think of us now, know that we love our country. We would never harm innocents, and we will not have our ideals twisted to become someone's pawn in the politics of the castle.

"We are asking you to help us in destroying those who call themselves the Death Knights."

-End to Chapter Eight-

This chapter is late, and I apologize about that. Truthfully, I haven't been feeling all that great in regards to continuing this story. I want to, but I'm not feeling all that inspired as of late. So, at this time I'd like to ask if there's anything I can do to improve the story, particularly in regards to the writing. I've been thinking recently that I'm either not improving as much as I used to or I'm getting worse. So please, if you can, I'd like to hear your opinions on this. Reviews are always, always appreciated, but I would really like the help right now.

Reviewers!

Trueborn Chaos, don't even worry about wounding my sensitive artist's soul. If there's an error that I didn't notice while proofreading, I would prefer someone telling me about it rather than finding out months later and after the majority of the readers have already read the chapter. It's not bugging me, it's doing me a service.

Hi, Luna. Yeah, I don't care for Agrias either, but when I wrote out that scene I thought to myself, 'Gee, isn't this a little harsh?' Then again, in-game Zalbag isn't always a nice man. You're right that friendships are just as important as the familial bonds, but as the game doesn't care too much about developing friendships beyond Ramza and Delita's, I feel as if I'm writing blindly. Ah, the perils of fanfiction.  
You're lucky you live that close to Otakon. I live less than thirty minutes away from Anime Expo, but that convention just isn't to my liking anymore. Right now I'm deciding if it's even possible to make it to this year's Otakon, considering that it falls at around the time that my fall semester starts. The last time I went to Otakon, it was in July...


	10. 9: Pray

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix 

Chapter Nine: Pray

The news rippled out from the castle and into the countryside like the low tide: slowly and consistently lapping up to the shoreline. Unlike news of a different sort, one full of alarm and passed by those seized within the grip of terror, this was no high tide, no fierce battering again and again onto a populace unused to such a frenzy. No, this was thankfully news of a different sort, one that had nothing to do with the recent troubles of the land.

"The princess is truly impressive, wanting to pray out in the countryside while the Death Knights still roam," a maid, wearing a uniform that featured prominently Zeltennia's crimson and gold, chattered brightly as she tucked in the sheets of a grand bed made of cherry wood.

Her partner, a girl of the same young age, cocked an ear as she vigilantly dusted the matching cherry armoire. "And on her own birthday, too! Why, if I had a choice between praying for the country and celebrating my seventeenth year, I just do not know which I would choose!"

Her friend grinned as she finished straightening the blood-red sheets. "That is why she is a princess of proper standing, and you are just a lowly maid," she teased, causing her friend to turn around and gape indignantly at her words.

"Why...look at yourself!"

While the maids strove to work as diligently as always, there was a large commotion at the castle gates. A large crowd of nobles had gathered there, Gallionnians and Zeltennians both by the colors they wore, lords and ladies of a range of ages. The weather was mild but clear, the mark of a day nestled within the month of May. To this the nobles were bound in thick coats and cloaks, more to show off their wealth than an attempt to properly estimate the temperature, and many ladies had to take out their embroidered lace handkerchiefs while they daintily perspired underneath the unyielding sun. Still, these delicate flowers persevered under these insurmountable conditions, waiting breathlessly for the event that was promised to them.

The first chocobo had a pearl-colored down, pale and groomed to perfection. With eyes as blue as the afternoon sky it stared forward; with feet cleaned of any grit it walked steadily, proudly bearing its rider, Princess Ovelia Atkascha of the royal Atkascha lineage. Just like her mount the woman stared forward, her face clear of anything troublesome like emotion. Her hair, said to be the color of spun gold, seemed to be lighter this morning, more ashen than rich; braids like sturdy rope hung beside her face, complementing her unbound hair. She wore the clothes accustomed for her royal bearing, a deep crimson cloak over a white dress with only gold embroidery dancing above the hem to mar its purity. The ladies tittered about the beauty their princess deigned to expose to them on this fine day, though some of the Gallionnian women thought her to be familiar. But they had never seen the princess before, and perhaps the heat really was too much for them.

Trotting at the elbow of the princess was her personal bodyguard Agrias Oaks, the youngest daughter of a baron of Gallionne. The Holy Knight, rumored to be a very stiff and formal young woman, seemed almost too comfortable in her Royal Guard uniform on this morn. Or, in the words of one older lady of Zeltennia, nearly traumatized at seeing a woman in heavy trousers: "How obscene! She looks entirely masculine. A woman should never become a knight, I say."

A young lord displaced by the Limberry Massacre gasped when the Holy Knight glanced in his direction, struck by, as he later told his cousin, "The beauty of her eyes. Were there only a woman with such clear eyes only for me!" Her braid, thick and beautifully plaited, hung between her shoulder blades, the color more brown than the bright yellow down of her chocobo.

On the other side of the lady knight was a woman cloaked from head to toe in the requisite robe of a white mage. Though most of her skin could not be seen, her face had an exotic olive tone to it, and the hair that tumbled out of her hood was dark.

A small group of soldiers followed them, Hokuten knights if their white capes with dark blue lions imprinted in the center were any hint. They were twenty-five in number, and some of the nobility noticed two unusual discrepancies to this group. One was that a few of them additionally wore the tabard of the Limberry Aegis Knights incorporated with their Hokuten uniforms. The other was a man in the center of the company who was dressed differently from the rest. His short hair was the color of harvest wheat, his clothes blue and white with a white cape securely fastened by forest-green epaulieres. In this manner did the group leave the castle, watched with awe by the nobles who wanted a glimpse of royalty.

Once they were a good distance away from the horde, the Holy Knight approached her liege. "Well well, my lady princess, that was quite the royal bearing. Even I was impressed." These words were accompanied by a wide grin that no proper elite knight would've ever let crawl onto their noble visage.

"Well, a noble is no different from royalty when it comes to manners." The 'princess' smiled widely, beaming like the sun as she turned to look at the older woman. "I had to try my best. Brother Zalbag will rue the day he doubted me!"

The cloaked mage coughed, drawing attention to her. "Alma, shall we go to the grove and pray...?"

"Oh yes. Hopefully 'they' will be waiting for us."

"Mm, they should," the woman in the uniform of the Holy Knight responded. "And I simply can't wait to prey..."

-0-

_-I can do this! I may be just a half-blood Beoulve, but...we still are connected, even if it is just a little..._-

Zalbag Beoulve leaned back in his chair and tried to work away the encroaching headache. His fingers worked restlessly at his temples, but the pressure wouldn't cease. No matter how much he tried, it just wouldn't go away. That feeling that he had made a horrible mistake...it just wouldn't go away.

He was feeling helpless again. Strange that the hateful feeling could only be aroused by his family.

With a grunt he sat up, forgoing a comfortable slouch in favor of his normal rigid posture. His fingers were working in vain so he stopped, instead deciding to stare at his paperwork with ringed eyes and a pounding mind behind them. Despite his headache, he could still identify the voices of people outside his office, muffled and tinny as they talked about the princess' departure, and he remembered.

It was his great plan.

It was his great mistake.

_He was used to reading by candlelight, no matter how much his mother, when she was alive, had scolded him for it. She would always warn her youngest son that his vision was important, because even though he was a Beoulve, he was the younger and not expected to amount to as much as Dycedarg would. So, she had fully expected that he would become an assistant to one lord or another, just someone's trusted vassal instead of a knight in his own right, and he would be safe from harm and he would be her baby forever._

_He would never reveal how he felt about his mother. She was dead, and the dead deserve respect._

_The flame flickered, drawing him out of his thoughts and forcing him to focus on the map in front of him. It was yellow with age, the parchment chipped on the sides and wrinkled, but it contained a workmanship that the Arc Knight could not help but respect. It was part four in a series of ten maps that lovingly detailed portions of the land. All ten maps were in his possession, a present from his father's best friend. He had thought it a strange gift for the Swordmaster to bestow upon him from one knight to another, but the man was said to have an extraordinary forethought. Now, Zalbag could see why._

_Part four out of the series of maps pertained to the area directly south of castle right to the shoreline; it included the woods east of Gariland to the woods west of Dorter and included all miscellaneous terrain. There were many, many pockets of trees and wide fields, all the better to engage in combat in. He knew he wanted to draw Gafgarion's Death Knights to a particular one away from either forest, though Wiegraf had assured him that there were no archers that had stayed with the company, archers being a valuable commodity in rural areas and those rural folks having sided with Wiegraf and Miluda during the attack on Limberry. Still, Zalbag was not going to risk death from the trees; a grove would have to do. A grove where the 'princess' would pray for the wealth of the country, and when the Death Knights drew near to the place she would reveal herself to be only bait and the Hokuten would slaughter the criminals._

_The Folles siblings had asked to be allowed in the party and he had agreed with the stipulation that they did not wear the colors of Hokuten knights. That way, if they turned traitor, the Hokuten would be able to easily identify them and carry out the sentence they had once escaped from. As it were, Zalbag no longer felt that their deaths were necessary and he was trying to be optimistic in his belief that they were not completely ill-hearted people._

_There was a knock on the door. Unsure if it wasn't just a fluke given the evening hour, he waited. There was another knock. "Come in," he called._

_"Hello, Brother," Alma said as she opened the door. She looked the same as always to him, so he didn't bother ask if something was wrong. His sister was very adept at telling him exactly how she felt anyway. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."_

_"Hm. The same as always, I suppose." He watched her stride up to the desk and sit down at one of the available chairs, her eyes large and curious as she peered at the map that took up quite a lot of space on his desk. "And yourself?"_

_She shook her head almost timidly, something that worried her brother. "Not really."_

_"'Not really' means there is something."_

_She made a face, distorted further by the shadows cast by the candlelight. "I hate it when you do that."_

_Still such a child, he thought as he smiled fondly. "So then, what can I do for you?"_

_"I heard from Ramza that you are going to send him and Delita on the mission," she murmured, fiddling with the end of her ponytail, "and I was wondering why."_

_"They are cadets, and cadets need to be tested in order to ensure that they are qualified to become knights," Zalbag answered mildly. He disliked it when people questioned his orders, but Alma had never cared._

_"Oh, I see. So, you believe that they can emerge unscathed from the battle?"_

_"It is not a matter of believing, but rather one of accepting what happens at the end of the battle."_

_"I understand. But, you do trust that they will be alright, do you not?"_

_"...I will pray for the best, and accept the worst."_

_"Are you still looking for a princess?"_

_"Yes," he answered without thinking. Then the intent of her question burrowed its way into his mind and he looked at her with surprise marring his features. "No."_

_That girl, that absolutely infuriating girl, grinned at him. "Which one is it, Brother Zalbag?"_

_He glowered at her through the meager light. "You will not become the princess."_

_She was aiming one of her carefully manufactured 'this delicate girl is wounded by your words!' looks at him, but after years of exposure to it he had been inoculated to its effect. "Your words are harsh. I just want to help..."_

_"You would help me more if you went to your room like a good girl," he muttered, sighing inwardly when she did not budge. "Alma," he said threateningly._

_"I would regret it if I do as you say! So, I will not." Crossing her arms, she should've looked like a petulant child. Instead, the flame's light seemed to draw something from her, revealing her impetuous but still noble strength. "I can help, Brother," she pleaded with an iron tone._

_All he could do was close his eyes, running his bare hands through his short hair. If it wasn't stress from the job, it was stress from his family, and, as much as he loved them both, he didn't want to deal with either right now. "This is not how a lady of the Beoulve family should conduct herself," he grumbled, "and you happen to be a lady of our noble name. Going to study at Orbonne is one thing, but you are nearly sixteen now, and you cannot simply wander about and do as you like! You are a lady, not a vagrant-"_

_"Brother," she whispered in a distressed tone, "you say the same thing over and over!"_

_Zalbag was unmoved. "Well, if you understood my words the first time I uttered them, we would not be having this ridiculous conversation."_

_"I do not want to fight, though! I just want to be there with my brother and my friend! I-I learned magic at Orbonne that could aid them..." Alma broke off her sentence and glared at Zalbag. "I hate that! You never, ever want to listen, all you do is lecture and complain. 'Alma, why do you not act more like a lady, you need to uphold the Beoulve name with honor, you need to be more mature' ...I hate that," she hissed the last three words before standing up suddenly, her face expressing the full sum of her emotions of the moment. "I am volunteering to help because I -am- a Beoulve! I can do this! I may be just a half-blood Beoulve, but...we still are connected, even if it is just a little..."_

_Zalbag shook his head once, as if wanting to clear his mind from the dazed aftereffect he experienced from her explosion of words. In particular, he had never known her to complain using the difference of blood that separated them, and dimly he wondered if Ramza felt the same way. As it were, he wanted to make amends for it, as it was never his intent to alienate either of his younger siblings; they were all his father's children, after all. "Alma, you are my sister through and through," he said to her, feeling uncomfortable with talking about his feelings. "I am sorry if you feel otherwise, or if you think I feel otherwise, because that is decidedly untrue. I...do not like the idea of sending both my younger brother and sister to such a crucial battle, especially since the Death Knights have proven themselves to be cruel."_

_He held up a hand, stopping her from speaking whatever words were bound to spill from her opened mouth. "But if you can prove to me your worth in battle, I will consider it."_

The memory of the magic under her command was almost frightening. Alma did not wield destructive forces at her delicate fingertips; her powers were truly clerical in nature. It was grudgingly that he revealed that her mother would have been proud of her, particularly in regards to how powerful her healing was. Perhaps it was a lapse of judgment that caused him to allow her to become the bait, though it helped that she held a passing resemblance to the true princess. When Alma had told him that Orbonne had also taught Teta to use that same magic, his military mind thought immediately that two clerics were better than one.

The headache would not go away. He bowed his head and began to pray.

-0-

_-I appreciate your offer, but no. You're needed here_-

Beowulf Kadmus stood before the assembled knights, watching them as they concentrated on honing their mana. As it was a nice morning, he had ushered them up here, on the weather-beaten stone that was Murond's rooftop, claiming that it would be the best place to commune with the elements that governed the world. From his vantage point he could faintly hear the horns blaring in the front of the castle, signaling the departure of the princess' entourage. Since the hall that was now called Murond had been placed at the opposite end of the grand entrance to the castle, the low, forlorn bellow of the horns was Beowulf's only sign that his friends had left the castle.

He wished he could've spent more time with them. Before they were otherwise engaged with the creation of the Death Knights, they were frequent users of the outposts of the chocobo messengers guild, sending letters back and forth with a tenacity only lifelong friends could adhere to. It didn't feel right to him that he was training knights instead of being with his friends. Perhaps in an unconscious protest of the situation, he did not join in his students' efforts at magical control. _His_ control was already commendable.

As he remembered his last conversation with Wiegraf, he considered it condemnable.

_It was nighttime, and the dark field of the sky was only somewhat hindered from its all encompassing blackness by the waning moon, the many miniscule stars notwithstanding. Beowulf climbed up the staircase within one of the turrets jutting up alongside the perimeter of the top floor of the castle, desiring nothing more than to be alone. Locking himself up in his room would've served the same purpose, but his youth in the countryside of Lionel had given him a dislike to the closed, cold walls that the castle offered. Unlike the turrets of Gallionne and Zeltennia, which had been converted into the most elite housing for the most elite of nobles, Murond's three towers were simply that: watchtowers for public defense. It therefore didn't take him very long to reach the top and the open sky he sought._

_There was already someone standing there, his back to the staircase, and Beowulf almost mistook the other person for a guard before noticing the clothes this figure wore, that of a ranking knight of Lionel. "Wiegraf," he called before realizing that the other man's reason for being up here might've mirrored his own. Now he didn't know if he should stay or make a tactful exit._

_"Beowulf," the other man responded lightly, turning to acknowledge the older man. "This castle is stuffy," he casually remarked as Beowulf approached him._

_"Hm, it is. Nice night, though."_

_"It's strange, being this close to the sky."_

_Beowulf leaned forward, against the edge of the turret, and watched his friend through night-stained eyes. "It cannot be that strange," he reasoned out loud, smiling as he continued. "Remember when we hiked up Bariaus Hill while looking for dragons? I think that hill is higher than this turret by at least five sectas."_

_"That hunt..." A strange expression, a potent mixture of embarrassment and dismay, crossed over Wiegraf's face. "We stumbled into that dragon's den, and then we had to jump off that cliff to get away from that snarling litter."_

_"I remember that. You broke your leg when you landed, and I was barely able to heal the worst of it with my magic."_

_"Only because you used our bag of potions to soften your fall."_

_"...I do not remember that."_

_"You wouldn't."_

_Beowulf shot a look at Wiegraf, though there was something of a smile playing on his lips. "I should not be expected to remember everything in my life," he said airily._

_"And you don't." Despite the bland words, there was a genuine expression of amusement on Wiegraf's face. Beowulf gave into letting the smile appear, though after a moment it was tempered into a slightly curved line. There was a deep silence looming over the two, challenging one of them to fill it with the words they had been holding back._

_"Miluda seems happy," Beowulf offered, enticed by the challenge of the quiet but unwilling to give it what it really wanted._

_"She's been ready to leave for some time now."_

_"So have you, it seems."_

_Wiegraf shrugged. "I'm not looking forward to it, if that's what you mean. It is my responsibility to make up for my mistakes, and-"_

_"Wait," Beowulf interrupted, his brow furrowed in confusion, "you do not actually think that the Death Knights was a mistake, do you? It was your dream to help people in this manner."_

_"It is still my dream," Wiegraf said, sounding slightly irritated at the interruption, "I've just learned that perhaps I will have to go about it in a different way. To have my efforts tangled up in the politics of the castle..." He sighed heavily. "But we will persevere, regardless."_

_Beowulf said nothing for a long moment, knowing instinctively what 'we' Wiegraf was referring to. "I was surprised that you let Miluda loose on Zalbag," he commented instead. "How did you know it would work?"_

_"I didn't. The way he was acting at that point, it seemed unlikely that he was willing to respond to anything else I said. Besides, Miluda is better at showing what I feel." Wiegraf paused, a small smile quirking up the corners of his lips as he turned to look at his friend full face. "And also, he was looking at her strangely. After all, it was probably the first time he had seen her without her mask."_

_Chuckling lightly, Beowulf shook his head. "Miluda's curse. I do not know who to feel more sorry for. How many proposals did she receive before you two left Lionel?"_

_"After you left until then? Maybe fifteen or so. Those poor men, thinking that they could seduce a warrior into becoming a pleasant little trophy wife with the mere mention of land or money. Why do you think she took up that mask?"_

_"How sad." The words were nothing short of teasing. "Beauty is wasted on the merciless. I suppose some men enjoy the challenge, though."_

_"What would you know about that?"_

_Something dark crossed over the elder man's face for the barest silver of a second before a non-committal expression replaced it. "About as much as you, I suppose," he retorted jokingly._

_"Hm." Wiegraf was normally a very closed off man, not given to revealing private details of his life, not even a tantalizing morsel. But Beowulf had known him since they were children toddling about the expansive town, years before Miluda had been born to her proud parents, and so the oddly cool response seemed out of place. "How is Boco?" he suddenly asked, the non-sequitor confirming Beowulf's suspicions._

_Not that he was going to do anything about it. It wasn't as if he was going to reveal his own secrets regarding the topic of women._

_"He is fine. Father mentioned in his last letter that the bird takes well to those really nice greens...Sylkis, or something of that name."_

_Uncharacteristically, Wiegraf looked visibly miserable at the news. "When Boco eats those, he gets picky about returning to his normal diet, not to mention that he gains so much weight. He's a traveling chocobo, not a breeding chocobo."_

_"...Your house is still standing, but I do not think you care after the last news..." Beowulf turned away and tried vainly to suppress his laughter, saying instead, "Miluda was right. Even with everything else in your life, the only thing that would get a rise out of you is mention of that bird."_

_"I raised him from an egg," Wiegraf countered defensively. "You would feel the same if you raised something from birth."_

_"Just like your ideas, right?"_

_"Exactly."_

_They had reached another impasse in their conversation, one that was like a yawning chasm that could only be filled by the one topic that had brought them together after a period of months. With trepidation, Beowulf decided to take the plunge. "In a few days, you will fight the remnants of what was supposed to be your dream," he stated, searching Wiegraf's profile for any hint of emotion. There was none, so he continued, "I want to be there."_

_Wiegraf seemed to hesitate, but he kept his eyes towards the darkness beyond. "Would Murond allow it?"_

_"Murond is merely a hall. It is not an entity, and it does not dictate my every waking moment," the Temple Knight stated, his tone dry._

_"And yet, you serve under it as a Shrine Knight. You pledged fealty to it, and I doubt there was a clause that allows you to run off whenever you choose." Wiegraf smiled slightly, sadly. "I had to leave the Lionel Holy Knights to chase after my dream. My sister had to leave as well to accompany me. Do you have a dream you're willing to leave your life behind for?"_

_The words gnawed at Beowulf, adding discomfort in a scene that already pricked needles into his flesh. Maybe some people are just meant to have dreams and others are meant to carry them out, he wanted to argue, but he could already see the fallacy involved in such a statement. To be human is to dream, whether or not a person actually carries out what they want in their innermost soul. He dreamt, but he had been unwilling to live a life driven solely by the staccato bursts of ecstasy and despair. It scared him, truth be told, to live a life connected and defined by something his soul craved. He wasn't sure if the things he dreamt he wanted were worth it._

_He envied his friend, a man who had a reason to fight._

_"There is something to be said for friendship," he argued, feebly._

_"Yes, that's true, but not this time." There was a trace of sympathy within Wiegraf's eyes, highlighted by the meager light of a dying moon. "I appreciate your offer, but no. You're needed here."_

_"As you say," Beowulf said, disappointment coloring his polite response._

_Wiegraf nodded. "But, there is something you can do while we're gone."_

_"What is it?"_

_"Pray for us. I suspect that victory will not come as easily as Miluda believes it should."_

Beowulf had prayed, but his prayer had a benefit to it that would envy those who tried fervently to make God grant them their deepest desires. The night before, he had been able to find Wiegraf and Miluda's confiscated swords. They were old blades, bestowed upon the siblings from loving parents who had sworn their lives to knighthood but died from disease eight years ago. The swords were, in effect, the Folles' family treasures; although they had taken many lives over the course of two generations, there was a beatific love humming inside them. All he had done was unlock this power, that of everlasting familial bonds, hoping it would help his friends in their battle.

Now, he watched the men and women before him and thought that, out of all the foul four letter words he had heard in his life, none were as bad as that affront to the language known as _duty_.

-0-

_-As commoners, we need to be strong. I'm curious to know what your strength is_-

Teta Hyral softly patted the soft down of her chocobo's neck, letting her touch soothe the bird while enjoying the gentle caress of the feathers. Judging by the newness of the down, she guessed that the chocobo she rode was still a child. Telling the age of the avian monsters was one of the first things she had learned from her dearly departed papa, and she kept the knowledge close to her heart. She longed to lean forward and wrap her arms around its neck while snuggling her face within the delicate down, but the white mage robes were heavy and restricted much of her movement. This, as well as the fact that there was a large regiment of Hokuten knights riding behind her, was enough to keep her body rigid and her eyes forward.

She had a great fear of embarrassing herself. It was bad enough that she was a mere peasant who was allowed access into one of the most prominent families in the castle. Even if she had reservations about this plan, even if she had a secret that she couldn't bear to let even her own brother or best friend know, she would try her best. She would not fail the trust that had gotten her placed into this mission.

As the group trudged onward towards the designated place, the girl stole a number of glances to the side, appreciative of the fact that her hood hid much of her face. She didn't want to find out how the woman Miluda would react upon noticing her surreptitious looks. That too was motivated out of fear of embarrassment; she was not scared of the tempestuous lady knight.

After the words Miluda had bestowed upon her, she was only intrigued.

_"Hello there."_

_The words froze Teta in her tracks, the tone moreso. In dismay she realized that the corridor she was in was devoid of all life, except for her and the woman directly in her path._

_Miluda only smiled beguilingly. "You're really scared of me, huh? I remember you. I saved your life and traveled with you, but you're still scared. That's a shame."_

_Teta only lowered her head, not sure as to how to reply. On one hand, the woman seemed brutally honest and would most likely appreciate a similar response. On the other hand, she had seen that same woman kill as easy as another would pare an apple._

_"That bad, hm...I'm sorry. We'll be working together tomorrow, so I'd like to at least gain your support." The woman suddenly laughed, confusing and frightening the poor girl. "Great, now I sound like my brother. Are you scared of my brother?" This was asked bluntly, though there was a tinge of kindness threading her words._

_After a moment, Teta realized that the scary woman was not going to leave until she received a response. Timidly, the girl shook her head. That was truth. The man called Wiegraf had never told her frightening stories, or killed before her very eyes, or even interacted with her. He was just there, and people who were just there didn't bother Teta all that much._

_"I see. Well, we all have something in common. If you think about it that way, maybe I won't seem so scary in your eyes," Miluda said, and when Teta looked up she noticed a smile that seemed to lighten the lady knight's expressive eyes. Miluda grinned at this, saying, "There, that's not so bad. Commoners should be able to look at each other in the eye, after all."_

_There was that. They were from the lower echelons of society. But Teta didn't understand why that should bind them inextricably to each other, not when there were nice nobles like Alma and her family. It certainly didn't make Miluda any less intimidating._

_It seemed that the elder woman noticed this indifference by the way she looked skyward and sighed dramatically. "I see how it is. You've been living in this musty old castle for so long that such a thing doesn't even matter to you. Or perhaps that's the result from living with a family as high up as the Beoulves." A sour look distorted the lady knight's normally attractive features as her thoughts seemed to expand on that point. "From what I've seen, that Zalbag wouldn't care about a commoner if she was in the way of his job..."_

_"You shouldn-should not say such things about Sir Zalbag. He is a nice man," Teta retorted angrily, or as angrily as a gentle soul like her could actually be. She was no longer afraid of this rude woman who could judge someone without actually knowing them._

_There was a look of surprise on Miluda's face, one that quickly turned thoughtful. "So, you can fight back. I'm glad to see that," she murmured._

_Teta turned her head away, her dark eyes downcast. "I do not understand..." she said softly, wishing for nothing more than for Alma to suddenly appear and whisk her away from this odd woman._

_"Unlike you and me, nobles don't tend to have to put their greatest effort into anything," Miluda started, crossing her arms as she spoke, "they take and take and take, but taking doesn't require any more effort than to reach forward. This castle, for instance, is supported by the back-breaking efforts of many people who look just like you or me. Field laborers see most of their crops taken away, with a mere pittance left for their families. Young ladies your age are routinely taken or sold from their poor families to work as maids. Even Murond's guilty of some of these practices. As long as there has been a system in which one provides for others, people have been exploited._

_"Naturally, in the face of this, we've all adopted some sort of defense," the lady knight continued lecturing, and Teta had to admit that she was very interested in what the woman had to say. It wasn't so much the words themselves as the hypnotic resonance reverberating within them. "My brother is a dreamer. To listen to him is like believing. Myself..." Slowly, sadness drew itself over her delicate facial structure, caressing her high cheekbones and thin lips with an intimacy that bordered obscenity. Then it was gone, and she was grinning in that same feral manner that Teta had associated with the woman as she said, "Well, I'm a killer. I use my anger to define my actions, and believe me, I have more to be angry about than just the nobles."_

_Teta didn't understand. "Doesn-Does that not make you unhappy...though?" she asked unsteadily, feeling merely out of place now._

_"Unhappy? I've never had the leisure to think about that," Miluda answered, an eyebrow raised questioningly. "I suppose if I had to kill an innocent I'd be pretty regretful, but I haven't. I'm not bound by duty, I've never done a dishonorable thing in my life...I just do what I think is right and I live with it."_

_"I...I see." Now Teta was bewildered. She would have to tell Alma about this later, if only to hear what her friend thought. As for herself, she wasn't sure if the things the woman was saying now would ever reconcile with the image of the fearsome woman she had met weeks before._

_Perhaps she was just as bad when it came to judging others._

_"I'll tell you this, though," Miluda said conspiratorially. "As long as you do what you think is the right thing, you'll be using your strength. As commoners, we need to be strong." She smiled, and this time it was something that Teta felt was truly sincere. "I'm curious to know what your strength is."_

Teta had thought about the lady knight's words, even confiding them to Alma as she had wanted to. Her friend didn't have anything useful to say, other than expressing admiration for the woman-the words about Zalbag notwithstanding. In the end, she would have to find her own meaning in those words.

_Strength? But I'm...I am not strong, not like Brother, or Alma, or Ramza. I am just a fraud..._

"We're here," she dimly heard the false Holy Knight mutter with a voice that betrayed some anxiety. She could understand. Even with all the promises of being safe and that the battle would end quickly, she still held her reservations.

She prayed for the best outcome. That was all she could offer.

-End to Chapter Nine-

Happy Chinese New Year! It's the year of the rooster. Hopefully it'll be a good year for a rat person like me.

In fic news, the next chapter will be delayed until 2/22. I'm getting my wisdom teeth yanked out on the next update, and from all the horror stories I've heard I don't think I'll be up for dealing with proofreading or the like. Also, the next two chapters will be R-rated for the following reasons overall: language, violence, blood, death, references to rape, and even more death. Keep in mind that this isn't reflective of the entire story's plot. If you need a reason why I would even devote one letter to the fifth reason, check out Gustav Margueriff's Brave Story entry.

Wiegraf is wearing Beowulf's in-game uniform. He'd probably get shot on sight if he were wearing his Death Knights outfit, after all.

The more I think about it, the more I think that Zalbag is one of the most interesting characters to grace FFT. Miluda's painfully ironic statement to Teta is definitely true in-game. Certainly he's the forerunner for most developed character in this story so far.

I miss The Burning Misery. Hope you'll see this note sooner or later.

Reviewers!

Hey, Trueborn Chaos. I'll take your words to heart. I just hate the idea of disappointing anyone with my work, since a lot of that comes from the heart as well. There are already going to be enough people who will automatically dismiss this story on the basis that it's an AU, or that it's longwinded. Sometimes I forget to keep the perspective that there's a reason why people keep reading my work, so, thank you.

Oh man, Hawk of Death, you really helped me out a lot with your catching that typo. When I ran the chapter through the spellchecker again, I found so many other typos that it made me cringe to think that it had been sitting there for days, steeped in bad spelling. So I got that all corrected thanks to you!  
Yeah, motivation's still kinda low, but it's getting up there again. Maybe it's the weather. Hope it gets better for you too.

Luna, you're right. A lot of what this story demands is really strange to what I'm used to. I'm really glad to hear that you haven't found it intolerable; I feel like I'm on the knife's edge between not keeping the integrity of the story and drowning in description. But, as long as I get to explore the characters, it's pretty fun.   
Congratulations on making it to your first choice! What are you majoring in?

Hi there, A Moment of Silence (unless you happen to be another reviewer without a name, in which case I'll call you A Multitude of Dots), I really appreciated your comment. After reading that, I can't have any doubts about this story. I'll definitely keep going!


	11. 10: Red Frenzy

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

(Warning: Rated **R** for violence, death and semi-explicit sexual references.)

Chapter Ten: Red Frenzy

Nearby an open field of bristled short grasses stood a small grove. Curving in a gentle parabola with its vortex just a few sectae from reaching the grove's northwestern area, a stream that had wound its way from Larner Channel to this place and would eventually end in a shining lake somewhere northeast of Gariland village. The grove itself was one of the many groups of trees that stood between the castle and the town of Dorter, and though it was unimpressive compared to a certain grove blooming with flowers and fruits it was still a pleasant resting spot for weary travelers and casual hunters alike.

A girl who was called a princess knelt down before these trees, her loose hair scattered over her shoulders when she bowed her head in deference to the bounty of nature. While her hands formed the sacred four motions symbolic of the four major religions that had joined together under the guidance of Ajora Glabados she snuck a look beside her, where a girl who looked like a white mage went through the same motions. When the movements were completed, the 'princess' began to pray. "God, please help us sinful children of Ivalice," she whispered, but her true prayer was in her mind.

_Please bring the Death Knights here, so that we may make sure that they can no longer threaten us. Please help us in this coming battle..._

There was a third female there, dressed as a Holy Knight and standing off to the side, her face betraying nothing even as she heard the sound of fifty men closing in behind her. The girls before her must've heard the ominous march, for their postures stiffened and they did not turn around. The woman of the three also did not turn around, though it was not out of fear. Instead, a small smile graced her face. She looked into the clump of trees, into the darkness, and found a certain comfort there.

By the sounds behind her, there were two men approaching her now. One man's footfalls was heavier than the other's, crunching down on the wild grasses, and she knew this to mean that the mercenary Gaff Gafgarion was one of them. He often wore bulky, dun-burnt leather and metal, making him imposing even in his fifties. She was hoping his right-hand man was the other. They stopped behind her, so close that she had to fight down a grin while she turned her head slightly, the barest acknowledgment of their presence.

"Well now, you're Oaks, aren't you? You know what we want, so just hand her over and we'll spare you." The voice was gruff, whiskey-soaked, the voice of a man who knew well his reputation and the things it could get him. His was the voice of a man who was frequently at the eye of the storm, deadly calm while everyone around him stumbled about, fumbling over each other to make the errors he capitalized on. He so relied on the mistakes of others to complete his jobs.

Intimidation was wasted on Miluda Folles.

She spun to the right, unsheathing her sword within the same fluid motion, and thrust the blade out in a basic fencing motion. It found a warm sheath in the chest of the man beside Gafgarion, but to her dismay the man had not been Gustav. Clucking her tongue softly in disappointment, she withdrew her sword and watched the man fall without uttering a sound. Her only consolation was when she noticed the look of surprise on the Dark Knight's face, a sight so ridiculous on a hardened mercenary that she couldn't help but grin. "Hi there," she greeted, her voice as clear as the sky above them.

The Hokuten knights burst out of the grove, their upraised swords gleaming in the late morning sun.

-0-

Teta covered her ears and shut her eyes tightly, trying her best to ignore the carnage. She was inside the grove, the only one there. Delita wasn't with her. He was watching the entrance, along with Ramza. Alma, against explicit orders from Zalbag, was there as well, giving aid to any injured Hokuten who could reach her in time.

But Teta couldn't do that, so she hid.

-0-

The initial motion of battle was like a wave, the Hokuten thrashing down upon the Death Knights with the full force of the high tide. After that, things became confused as the much larger numbers of the Death Knights seemed to swallow up the Hokuten in whirlpool, all green and white with blue swirling around and around but never draining out.

As a girl of the hills, Miluda distrusted the ocean. She preferred solid, well marked paths and so, despite her relative inexperience with the raging motions of large battles like the one she was currently in, she tried her hardest to cut a path through. Slashing through one mercenary who dared stand before her, she kicked his body out of the way and continued on, narrowly avoiding a thrust from a Hokuten and resisting the urge to sink her blade into his chest for that insult.

She was looking for someone. Her brother? Gustav? It was hard to think with the bodies closing in, falling all around her. Taking deep breaths, she cut through a swath of Death Knights huddled around a young knight. With a glance, she realized that this boy was wearing the tabard of the Limberry Aegis Knights, which looked strange with his Hokuten regulation cape. The boy glared at her, aiming a crossbow at her face, but she was close enough to knock his aim off kilter with her sword. _I wish I'd learned how to break weapons_, she thought sourly. "I'm not your enemy. Try aiming for someone who is," she spat.

"You are a Death Knight! You dared to swarm through Limberry like locusts, killing and stealing like the pathetic animals you are!" the boy screamed in righteous fury. Miluda would've found it amusing how he was acting as if he was above her when he was sprawled on the ground with a dinky little crossbow if it weren't for the 'animal' comment. _What would Wiegraf do_, she wondered. He would've walked away, she was sure of it. He'd never let anyone know how far they had dug underneath his skin.

She was sick of being treated like she was worthless.

Miluda moved her sword so that it was just under the boy's chin, the tip jabbing his throat. "Listen, you obnoxious little brat. Right now you are a very useless lump of flesh that can't even save himself. You won't be able to do a thing in a real fight, so why don't you be a good little boy and hide?"

The boy sneered. "My blood does not allow me to follow orders from trash, especially a commoner bitch like yourself."

"Oh, really?" Her retaliation was swift, smashing the hilt of her sword against the boy's temple. With a cry he fell over, unconscious. The lady knight took in a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that threatened to take over. That was for later, when she had a real enemy to fight. Besides, if the Hokuten saw her now, they would mete out the sentence she had been lucky enough to escape from.

She strode away, reentering the fray as casually as another might take a stroll to visit a dear friend. There was a man she had to find, though she still hadn't figured out who.

-0-

"Alma, I really think you should retreat into the grove," Ramza said through gritted teeth. The flow of the battle was edging its way towards them, albeit slowly, and it was still too early to tell which side had gotten the upper hand. Outnumbered yet likely more skilled, it seemed to the cadet that the Hokuten were doing well enough without his and Delita's assistance. Not that it would've mattered anyway; they were under strict orders to protect their sisters and to flee if things turned for the worst.

In the distance, shimmery blue projectiles fell from the sky; they appeared to be blocks of ice, but there were no mage knights in the Hokuten, nor were there any magic users in the Death Knights. The blocks fell again, and this time Ramza could see them reconfiguring from multiple blocks into one large blade-like energy. It was very obvious to him that it was a Holy Knight skill. It was apparently obvious to Alma too, for she was smiling when he glanced at her. "I think we are doing just fine, Brother Ramza," she said, and he could tell that she thought herself to be completely in the right.

"Still..." he wavered, "you never know what could happen on the battlefield."

"Yes, yes..." she trailed off when she noticed the Hokuten knight limping towards them. He was bleeding from his left leg, and by the way he held the shoulder of his right arm he was incapacitated from further battle. Alma's eyes widened at this before she pointed at the knight. "Ramza, bring him over here!"

He worked on reflexes alone, running to assist the knight back to the entrance of the grove. Blood soaked through the knight's uniform into Ramza's, the metallic stench overpowering his sense of smell as he helped to bring the man to his sister. Delita, who had been quietly watching for any enemies close to their position, helped Ramza lay the man down onto the ground. Alma kneeled at the man's side, noting the injuries the knight had suffered before she raised her hands over his body and began to chant quietly to herself. A blue sparkle, almost resembling a fairy in its most commonly seen form as a firefly-like glow, began to hover between her hands. It spiraled around the man's body, seemingly dancing with glee as glimmers of light fell from its form, healing both broken skin and weary soul as the sparkles drifted onto his prone body. Reaching its apex, the main body of light burst in a flurry of iridescent glitter, bathing the knight in the full power of Alma's healing. Exhausted, the girl leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees in an attempt to hold herself up.

The knight opened his eyes and sat up, gingerly testing his once injured limbs. He turned to Alma, his face betraying his surprise. "Lady Alma, your training at Orbonne has truly magnified the scope of your powers. I would say that you could even surpass your lady mother in the space of another year."

"N-no...that is not true, Sir Lezales," Alma said, shaking her head. "My honorable mother is not one so easily outdone by just a few years of training."

"As you say, my lady." The knight stood, bowing to her. "I thank you for your service. We will clear these knaves from this field soon enough." He strode off, looking as ready for the battle as any fresh soldier.

Ramza watched the exchange between his sister and one of the Hokuten's senior knights, unwilling to say anything. He had an idea of how powerful Alma's magic had become during the first skirmish with the Death Knights, but to see it in plain sight was nothing short of shocking. She began to fall forward and he grabbed her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Alma, do you need an ether?"

"Mm..." She sounded drowsy. "Thank you."

"I will go," Delita interceded, not bothering to wait for a reply before he ran inside the grove to look for his sister. Teta had agreed to hold the restorative items for them, since she looked extremely hesitant to help with the healing duties. Delita didn't understand why, because he had figured that her stay at Orbonne would've helped her magic-wise, but he was happy that she was keeping herself out of trouble. It was too bad that Ramza couldn't get his own sister to do the same, the brunet thought as he grinned to himself. But they all believed the Hokuten would be victorious in the end, despite Ramza's caution.

"Brother, is that you?" Teta's voice sounded as if it was on the edge of hysteria.

Delita frowned. She must've heard him plodding through the undergrowth and assumed the worst, he realized. "Yes, it is just me," he replied as soothingly as he could. His poor sister. Why had she been ordered to attend this mission, anyway?

"O-oh, thank God," he could hear her say this just as he came upon her small, huddled form. The chirps from the chocobos stationed nearby were easy to hear, even above the din of the battlefield; they had been tied to face the river. Even with a means of escape so close by, she still looked deathly frightened, her pallor lightening her olive skin. "You are alright, are you not?" she asked carefully, her eyes wide as she examined him from where she sat.

"Yes, I have not been needed at the front just yet." He knelt down so that they were at eye level with each other. "Are you feeling alright, Teta?"

"I..." She looked away. "I am so worried for you...for everyone. And yet...I don't...I do not want to leave this area."

Gently, he touched her shoulder. "It is alright to be afraid. I would prefer it if you stayed here, anyway." She did not turn towards him, and he was worried that she was overly stressed with everything to listen to him. "Teta, I promise you that I will protect you, so do not worry," he said earnestly, almost pleading with her.

She had never failed to acknowledge him before. She was all he had.

"Protect me..." she whispered, now looking at him with shining eyes. "But what about my strength?"

This was new. He had never thought that his innocent sister had ever thought about strength before. "What?"

"No, it is nothing." She looked downward. "Please, take care of yourself too, Delita."

"I will," he promised. Leaning in, he kissed her on her forehead, something their mother used to do when their family was still healthy and whole. When he pulled away, he could see the curve of her lips, a rare smile, and it cheered him to see it. "By the way, I need an ether," he said, prompting a small giggle out of the young girl.

"It is a good thing you remembered now, or else Alma would be furious with you." Digging through a small knapsack, she pulled out a small bottle of pea-green syrup and handed it to her brother. "Alma is really working hard, is she not?" Teta asked, though her dark eyes were imploring as they scrutinized her brother's face.

"I suppose she is," Delita replied, patting Teta on the shoulder once before rising. "Well, I had better get this to her before she has a fit." He waved once, before disappearing around a bend.

And once more, Teta was alone.

-0-

From a young age, Wiegraf Folles had been encouraged to take up swordplay and follow the family tradition of knighthood. To him, being a knight in and of itself was never his true goal, but rather something that could open a world of opportunity. There was the honor of being a knight, and then there were the components one needed to be a knight. The latter was more valuable to him; the tactical and analytical abilities, the tenets of knighthood and weapon training skills he had acquired over the years had formed an imprint on his psyche that could never be outdone by the simple pride of _being a knight_. He was not impressed by the duties a knight held to his lord, and it had been a relief to be let go from his service of the Lionel Holy Knights. A knight's true service is to the people and to God, he believed, not to any one person who thought themselves more equal than others. His dream had been to make that belief into reality.

In the midst of the battle between the Hokuten and the Death Knights, Wiegraf could see his dream dying all around him.

Sidestepping the swing of a sword, he used his shield to intercept the blade of a dagger before he pivoted, slashing through two men with one strike. His mind was churning with analysis of all his nearby opponents, from their weapons to the distribution of weight that they applied to their stances, and he brandished his sword in response. He wasn't fond of abusing his Holy Sword skills, but he knew that his training in them had had the adverse effect of cutting into his strength training, making it inefficient to keep attacking head on. The strength he lost due to his special training was the same that he used in his special sword skills. It was an annoying paradox, one he had never figured out how to fix.

Blue energy crystalized out of thin air, forming into blocky prototypes of blades before they crashed down upon the green-clad men. He remembered once wearing that very same green, and he mourned the loss of that solidarity. Some of them had been frozen stiff by the secrets of the Stasis Sword and others had fallen outright, overwhelmed by the culmination of his attack along with earlier injuries.

And Wiegraf mourned.

"Your back!" he heard Miluda shout. He turned, bringing his shield up while bracing himself for the upcoming blow, but all he felt was a heavy body as it flopped onto him. His sister was there, holding her sword in the two-handed style reminiscent of a foreign style that was gaining popularity in Lionel. There was blood rolling down the length of the silver blade, and her Royal Holy Knight uniform was drenched in the stuff.

"Thank you," he said, pushing the corpse off of him. She snorted in derision as she sent the sword down quickly, flinging drops of blood onto the field.

"You say that as if I had a choice." He observed her as she looked around, her eyes taking in the carnage around them. Living together for as long as they had, he could tell that she was relatively apathetic by the scenes of brutality around them. "Well," she said as she glanced at him, "let's find Gustav. His death belongs to us!"

He wanted to, he honestly did. Gustav had betrayed him in every sense of the word. But there was still the matter of Gafgarion to contend with. "No. Miluda, you'll have to find him on your own. I'm going after Gafgarion," he ordered, knowing that she wouldn't balk at the idea.

There was slight confusion roiling about her light eyes before she shrugged. "Sure. That works out fine for me."

"Good. Try to be merciful-" A sudden movement to Miluda's right caught his attention. Before the Death Knight could attack, Wiegraf stepped beside her and thrust his sword out at the mercenary. An orange conical energy burst from the ground underneath the mercenary's feet, rocketing through the man's body. Sometimes the secrets of the Holy Sword skill set made themselves apparent in strange ways; this skill, while not visibly doing any damage, crushed the Death Knight's internal organs. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

"Merciful, huh?" Miluda muttered.

"Well, within reason." Wiegraf looked around; the battle was far from over and he was anxious to find the usurper of his dream. There was a glimmer of a smile on his face as he turned to her, saying, "Some people don't deserve mercy. I'll see you at the end of the battle."

She returned the smile, her features softening. It was a relief for him to see her smile without that mask on her face; she just looked more human that way. "I'll see you then." And then she was gone, darting into the heat of the battle as if she belonged there. It was a cold comfort to see his little sister so comfortable in the midst of such wanton bloodshed, but at the same time Wiegraf was proud to see that her spirit had never diminished even at the harshest of times.

God willing, he could rebuild his dreams if Miluda was right there with him.

-0-

_Where is that coward? Where is that goddamned bastard!_

Miluda tore through her opposition, a wildfire razing everything before her. There were no methodical, tactical attacks from her; unlike her elder brother, she'd never bothered to learn how to concentrate her strikes for maximum efficiency. That would just take too much time, and time was so very valuable to her at the moment.

She had to find Gustav. She was the only one who deserved to sink her blade into his heart. No one was going to take that away from her.

No one.

Running blindly through the field, she was surprised when a thrown dagger pierced her left arm. She hissed in pain and wrenched out the projectile, those few precious seconds enough for her to become surrounded by five mercenaries. Scowling now, she shifted her weight from one foot to another, her narrowed eyes and bared teeth giving her the appearance of a desperate animal.

"Miluda, just give up," one man said. She recognized him as a traitor, someone who had pledged loyalty to her brother but then secretly joined with Gafgarion and Gustav. They all were traitors to some extent, but the fact that she knew him only made her angrier.

"Go to hell," she bit out, tightening her grip on the hilt of her sword.

They laughed, all five of them. She could see them letting down their guard as they proceeded to really laugh it up, ha-ha-ha, that girlie sure is cute when she acts tough. They had always laughed at her, nobles and men both. Ever since she entered the service of the Lionel Holy Knights at fourteen, they had always found something hilarious about her. Next would be the comments, their oh-so-witty repartee about giving her a real sword to handle.

When she plunged her sword into the nearest man's chest, she only smiled as she noted that they weren't laughing anymore.

Tearing her sword out of him, a stream of blood arched beside her as she dove towards her next victim, the traitor she remembered. He had barely stepped back before she swung, the tip of the blade ripping through his throat. Faintly, he gurgled something before he fell, but she had already turned away, his existence already forgotten.

_They never laugh at Wiegraf_, she told herself. It was a familiar mantra, one that kept her rage at its peak. _They look at him like he's Ajora reincarnated. They don't tell him that he'd be better off as a whore._

A straight jab to the face caught her unawares, bruising her fair skin. She moved with the blow, adjusting her position to better avoid the next punch. It was aimed at her face again, and she could only smirk before slamming her sword into his stomach, disemboweling the martial artist. She kicked him off her sword before pivoting to her left, cutting open the next man from left shoulder to right hip.

_No, they never tell him that. They'd never dare tell him that he's just another hole to be filled. It's always me. Only me._

_I'll make them respect me. Even if I have to carve it into them. They deserve it._

There was one left, and Miluda enjoyed the look of fear on his face. It was always the last one standing that had that look on his face, never the third to last or fourth to last or anything like that. She wondered if it was because she invariably looked like she had been in the epicenter of a hurricane of blood. Her face was splattered with drops of crimson, her braid heavy and sodden. The stench of blood was making her nauseous.

It was the price of power.

_-Try to be merciful_-

She remembered her brother's words and paused. There was only one left, and she was not innately cruel. Decision made, she waved the last one standing away. "Go. I won't kill you."

"You stupid bitch! You think I'm going to take orders from a whore?" the mercenary retorted, readying his sword.

Miluda only shook her head at this. "You're the mercenary, and you're calling _me_ a whore? I swear..." Her anger diminished, there was something of weariness on her bruised, blood-splattered face. "Just go," she added, knowing that it was rare indeed when someone heeded her words.

After all, she was just a woman.

He lunged at her, which she gamely dodged. The killing was wearing down on her, and her brother's words settled uneasily in her mind. She ducked and weaved around the Death Knight's strikes easily, the durable clothes she wore more suited for such a effort than the metal armaments she was normally encased within. An idea formed in her mind and she followed up on it, swinging her sword as if she was going to break her opponent's weapon. She had never bothered to learn that particular skill, but the attack would have the desired effect. Unfortunately, the man thought she really was going to break his weapon, and flinched.

Metal tore through skin, bone and sinew, severing the man's hand at the wrist. He howled in agony, clutching the stump to his chest. Blood seeped from the wound into his green tunic, darkening the material black. Quickly, Miluda stepped forward and ended his life, sickened by her error. She had only wanted to cut off a few fingers and make him unable to wield a sword, not...that.

She wasn't merciful, but she also had no taste for torture.

So caught up in pushing down her revulsion, she was unable to recognize the sound of footsteps upon the crisp grass until it was too late. She half turned, but by then the sword raked across her unprotected back. A scream ripped through her throat as she fell onto the man she had just killed, the shock of the pain causing her to drop her sword. Stumbling, wavering, she turned around, groping around for her sword as large black dots wavered in her vision. She had turned completely around and was on her knees when she felt cold steel against her lips.

Slowly, her eyes panned upward. The edge of a sword. A knight's green and brown uniform. A primp, cocksure smirk. Cold, confident green eyes. Dark blond hair, strands of it falling into the man's face.

"Hello, Miluda," Gustav Margueriff said. The tip of the sword prodded against her lips, drawing blood. Slowly he let the tip run down, past her lower lip and down her chin, a thin trail of blood following its wake. "That's a good position for you," he commented casually, his voice falling over her like poisoned velvet.

The heat of her rage blanketed her again, but all it did was remind her how helpless she was now.

-0-

_The Hokuten seem to be doing well enough, but I highly doubt they've killed Gafgarion._

Wiegraf moved silently, helping the Hokuten when they needed it. The majority of the battle was closing in on the grove, though he couldn't be sure if the Death Knights were still unaware that the 'princess' was a fake one. All the same, he followed the tide of the battle.

There was a strange whistle humming through the air. He looked up and spotted a crossbow bolt flying through the air, plunging harmlessly into the ground. Another one soon followed the same trajectory, this one hitting a mercenary in the knee. The White Knight was dismayed to see even more cutting through the air, raining down upon ally and enemy alike. Glancing in the direction the bolts were flying from, he noticed a Hokuten boy haphazardly firing away. No one else of the Hokuten was bothering to stop this nonsense, so Wiegraf decided to intercede. He would've figured Zalbag to choose more able warriors.

As he took one step in the appropriate direction, Wiegraf felt a queer tingle run through his body. It was unpleasant, like the tremor of a chill. The various scars laid upon his skin felt irritated in particular. He reached down to his stomach, sword still in hand, and touched one of the more painful ones, wincing at the stinging heat as his fingers made contact through the cloth of the uniform.

When he was fifteen years old, he had went hunting with his father at Bariaus Valley. There, he had been gored by a behemoth. Even now, he had a long, ripped scar along the right side of his abdomen. It was such an old scar that all there was left was the telltale mark of white scar tissue.

Today, fifteen years later, the scar began to bleed.

There were many other similarly old scars upon his body from many ventures in hunting and training, most of them with stories long forgotten by their owner. Today, they all bled as if what had caused them had occurred right then. He grunted in pain as they all reopened simultaneously, his blood soaking through the uniform he had borrowed from Beowulf. A wave of fatigue swept over him, lulling him into closing his eyes. He felt so drained...

With a start he broke through his lethargy, pure anger flashing across his face like lightning dancing across the night sky. "Gafgarion, you coward!" he shouted, adrenaline giving his weary body an artificial lift. "Show yourself!"

He saw the grizzled Dark Knight through his peripheral vision and turned to his left, facing the armored usurper. Gafgarion looked fresh, rejuvenated, and it sickened Wiegraf to realize that it was through his life force that the older man looked so well.

"Sorry kid," Gafgarion said, his tone insincere as he held his sword in front of him, "but I can't die here. I still have a job to finish."

The White Knight said nothing as he adjusted his grip on his sword and shield. He was only sorry that he was going to go into this duel with a disadvantage.

-0-

_I think the battle should be ending soon. I...I need to be brave..._

Teta crept out of the undergrowth, absently brushing off bits of dirt from her borrowed white mage uniform. Adjusting the pouch of supplies so that it fit more snugly inside her robe, she began taking small steps towards the outside world.

And then she heard the shouts of her brother and her friends.

Momentarily, she was at a loss. What should she do? It would be more prudent to run back, to hide away until the danger left...but what if they really needed her? What if Alma couldn't heal anymore, and a man's life was at the brink of fading away forever? What if that man was Ramza, or her brother?

She gritted her teeth and moved forward. Strength, that was the key. She held onto that mindset with a mythril grip. Even if she wasn't that strange lady knight, she could be strong.

The darkened grasses of the grove were softer than the crisp greenery that was constantly bathed by the sun, enabling her to hear over her timid footfalls. There was the voice of her brother, strong and brave, and she smiled to hear that he sounded as if he was nearing victory. Ramza's voice could be heard too, and she bit back a smile when she interpreted his words: half battle cries, half scolding Alma for not leaving the battle up to them. And what of her best friend? As Teta edged behind a tree and peeked around it, she could see her courageous friend, dressed up as the very image of the princess, digging her hands into the dirt and flinging stones at the Death Knights that dared approach.

It was funny, but it was also scary too. She tried not to gasp as one of the green-clad men jabbed his dagger in Alma's direction, only for her brother to thrust his sword into the man's stomach. There was a lot of blood gushing out of the wound when Delita pulled away, and the sight of all that red made her feel faint. Another thing that made her lightheaded was watching Ramza's battle with a very tall man. Ramza's back was to her, and she could see the cruel lines of fury etched along the tall man's face as they fought viciously, neither gaining an edge on the other. Suddenly, the man slumped over, and with the light Teta could see that there was a small object thrust in-between his shoulder blades.

There was a break in the fighting for the people she loved as the Hokuten moved in, sending the flow of the battle away from the mouth of the grove. Teta was pleased at this development, quickly approaching her friends and family during this lull. "Brother! Alma! Ramza!" she called, her voice steady. She liked that; perhaps she was already gaining strength? "Are you all alright?"

Her brother turned to her, the smile on his face at odds with the worry dwelling in his eyes. "Teta? What are you doing out here?"

Ramza faced her as well after a brief squabble with his own sister. "Is there something we can do for you?" he asked kindly. Teta smiled at this; Ramza was always so kind to her. She found it strange that Alma hadn't turned around from the battle to greet her, but it was okay because she figured that Alma was watching just in case someone was in need of healing.

"No, I wanted to see how _you_ were doing," she countered in her soft alto, "just in case there was something I could do to help..."

"RAMZA!"

The scream was terrible, a banshee's howl instead of the normally strong tones one associated with Alma Beoulve. Teta could only watch in confusion as Alma hurled herself in front of her brother and let out another cry, this one full of anguish. Both siblings fell to the ground, younger sister flung along her brother's chest.

Teta didn't understand, didn't want to understand, but when her eyes settled onto the small object protruding out of Alma's chest, along with the growing stain of red marring the pure white dress, she was forced to realize the truth.

Alma, her brave and stubborn best friend, was dead.

-End to Chapter Ten-

This was a chapter I had been looking forward to writing for a while now. Finally, some action! I've been playing through the game again and I'm just after Orbonne Monastery in Chapter 3, so Shrine Knight Wiegraf has familiarized me with the way some of the Holy Sword skills look, particularly Crush _Sword_.

In the upcoming battles (both in the next chapter and beyond), I've employed a two-prong system in deciding how to write the battle. The overriding one is 'plot purposes'. The one that decides how the course of the battle will turn out, however, is my looking at the potential of a character at max levels in their own job class. I'll have a link to the stat guide in my bio so if you're ever so inclined you can see it for yourself. It'll certainly make the Gustav-Miluda battle very interesting to write (because they're both regular knights), and I'm lucky enough that the Elite Knight Commentary had the appropriate values for Gafgarion and Wiegraf (or else it'd be kind of hard to visualize on a statistical standard). Yeah, that might be overdoing it, but FFT is a unique enough game that I'd really like to play by its rules whenever possible.

Tell me what support abilities Wiegraf and Miluda have here and win a prize!

Next week, I start a new series. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson from _Zodiac Signal_...

Reviewers!

To the '...' people: I'm pretty sure there are two of you. I thank you both for your comments, as they are definitely what help me keep going, and I fervently wish either one or both of you would put down a name of your own choosing. Please?

Hi, Trueborn Chaos! Don't worry about saying the wrong thing or anything like that. I'm the sort of person that says exactly what's on her mind, so I fully understand. Mushy? Hah...   
Oh, I see, we're the same age and the same sign. That's pretty cool!  
Thanks about the teeth. Never even hurt a quarter of what I expected.  
As you saw in this chapter, Algus is definitely one of the Limberry Aegis Knights accompanying the Hokuten.  
Thanks for the compliment, and you actually typo'ed the typo. It's corrected now, thanks to you.

Hey, Luna! I never actually thought that Ovelia and Alma looked alike...well, actually, they do look more alike than anyone else in the cast. Well, a lot of that cast resemble each other. All that blond hair...   
It's all good about the Zalbag-appreciation. Tell me, how are you finding the other characters?  
Thanks for your concern, it's very appreciated. You're going to major in English, huh? Cool. I'm a psychology major, but these days I look more like an anthropology major.


	12. 11: Dead Knights II

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

(Warning: Rated **R** for references to rape, language, more violence and even more death.)

Chapter Eleven: Dead Knights II (part the annihilation)

Rofel Wodring strode into Gallionne, his footsteps click-clacking at a steady pace, the very essence of confidence and good intentions. Beside him, his protégé Kletian Drowa matched his pace, although it seemed that the younger man was still giving him the proper deference required in their relationship. They were wearing their golden armor and appropriate surcoats, marking the visit as one purely for business' sake. Servants, knights and nobles stared at the imposing sight the Shrine Knights made, social standings shattered by their collective thoughts.

'What reason would the Shrine Knights come _here_ for?'

They headed without any preamble towards the turret that was the home to Duke Larg and all of those under his wing. The Divine Knight slowed by half a step and turned his head in Kletian's direction, their eyes meeting for only a second before he returned his attention to all that was before him. Stopping at the massive doors that blocked the rabble from the home of premier noble house of Gallionne, they waited.

It did not take long for word to get around, and finally an aide to the duke himself deigned to open the door and peer out at them. "Good day to you, good sirs," the aide tossed the greeting at them much like one would toss scraps at a caged animal, "what business might the men of God have here?"

Amusement at the man's haughty attitude flashed in Rofel's dark eyes but did not venture into his voice as he said, "These humble men of the good Lord would have a word with the other good lord, lest the former strike the latter for purposefully ignoring what has already been ignored for quite the while already." The threat lingered in the air for a moment before the aide muttered an apology and retreated into the depths of the turret.

"You are sure you do not write down what you say beforehand, Rofel?" Kletian asked without turning away from the grand doors.

Rofel smiled. "It is the wont of the charlatan to ask another for the manner of his tricks."

"Touché."

At length, the good lord-the latter, not the former-arrived, his thin face conveying an annoyed sort of politeness. "Ah, the Shrine Knights' Pillar of Knowledge," he recalled, a quick flicker of the eyes noting and dismissing the young sorcerer, "this is a surprise. I hear I may have done something to offend the Order?"

"I will say it bluntly: Do you despise the royal family?" The Divine Knight's face was touched by the slender fingers of Shiva herself, his expression as cold and hardened as an icicle.

"My, such a question!" Bestrada Larg chuckled, his voice as boyish as his haircut. "You would ask such a thing when my own sister is a vital part of the Atkascha family?"

"By marriage," Rofel stated, the two words instantly bringing a cloud over the duke's good-natured demeanor. "When it comes to blood, there are only two members of the Atkascha lineage. I ask your feelings regarding the elder, the blessed Princess Ovelia."

There was a flicker of something deep within the duke's eyes, something dark and trembling. "Such impertinence. She is my ward."

"That is not a feeling, but rather a dictation of the relationship you two share. Rather cold, I believe."

No one had ever claimed the head of Gallionne as a strong contender in the tournament of mental jousting. Irritated at the Shrine Knight's insinuations, Larg crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the Pillar. "You try my patience, Sir Wodring. State your business."

"I have come to take the princess to Murond, for she is lacking in her studies."

A blank look crossed the duke's face. "Take her for...studies?"

"Yes," Rofel answered. Then, out of sympathy, he decided to help the noble along. "You so graciously entrusted her to us, and we sent our esteemed princess to Orbonne for the sake of education. As we understood it at the time, you wished for us to help her with the proper studies so that, when the time came, she would be a queen worthy of God and country." He smiled inwardly at his own words, knowing that Duke Larg had only wanted to keep the princess out of the public sight while the queen gave birth to an heir and the king died. But the duke could hardly admit to that, though Rofel would've loved to see that. Blatant honesty was a rarity in his line of work.

Larg nodded at the explanation given so far. "Yes, yes. Go on."

"Of course, it is a common thing in our history to send princesses to convents, so they might study wholesome subjects to bring out the holiness inherent in our souls." Rofel frowned thoughtfully. "But then, our Prince Orinas was born. No longer was Princess Ovelia a viable heir; after all, males are favored heirs, particularly when they are direct heirs."

"Yes, my nephew is indeed such." The duke was now hanging onto every word.

"And yet, it was such a surprise to us that you did not withdraw the princess from our care."

"Well, the Death Knights were roaming the countryside at the time."

Shiva's caress fell against Rofel's lips as he remembered conversing with the former leader of the Death Knights. "Yes, the Death Knights. I had no clue that the royal house could be intimidated by such rogues."

There was a slight frown appearing on the duke's thin face. "Well, one would exhibit great caution after hearing about Limberry."

"Yes, Limberry, where the marquis himself ran through the streets, dispatching those who infiltrated his village. Even while he was injured, bleeding from both arms and a leg, he led his Aegis Knights and routed the Death Knights," Rofel replied. "Impressive, these so-called 'country knights'."

"Sir Wodring," Larg stated, looking ill at ease, "I am a busy man..."

"Yes, I understand. Princess Ovelia had stayed at Orbonne for such a long time, you see, that the scope of her studies were quite impressive. Therefore, she cannot be allowed to lag behind in them, lest someone below her station were to pass her. After all, a princess must be greater than her peers, much like a noble should be greater than a commoner..." the common-born Divine Knight smiled tightly, "for if tradition was so easily twisted, it would bring shame to the customs of our beloved Ivalice. Unless...you feel differently?"

The duke looked as if he were struggling with the arguments presented, if the wrinkles creasing his brow were of any indication. "Well, that is an interesting answer. Let me ponder it and give you your answer at a later date," he said, clumsily grabbing at anything to stall the Shrine Knights with.

"Alright," Rofel said with a nod, "we will wait right here in the meanwhile."

Larg nearly bolted back into his home. Kletian turned to Rofel with a smile touched by awe. "I am glad you requested my presence. That was quite the show."

The elder man shook his head. "That was nothing more than the stretching of limbs before the match. There are two types of people in the world of politics, young Kletian, and you have just met the first."

"And the second?"

Rofel only smiled as Dycedarg Beoulve appeared.

-0-

The battle had been raging on for nearly an hour now, and the Hokuten were steadily pressing their advantage. Most of the bodies that littered the field wore clothes of green, with much of those articles of clothing irreversibly darkened with bloodstains. Though there were many injured Hokuten, the majority of them continued fighting, urged on by the sight of a comrade lying on the once crisp grass. There was no wind, but no one seemed to notice.

It was silent at the grove. Ramza was holding his sister, her body still sprawled on top of his. His dark eyes were dull, the eyes of a man who cannot cope, his mind scuttling away to a happy place where senseless acts of violence never occur. Tears streamed down these lifeless eyes, rolling down rounded cheeks that had yet to have their fat burned away. These drops gathered, clung to his jawline for tantalizing moments before falling onto Alma's hair.

Teta could only watch this, her mind nearly blank. Delita stared at Alma's body, all lax and aloof in its casual sprawl, his attention caught by that unobtrusive bolt of metal jutting out of the middle of a circle of blood, a target formed after death. The red that had ruined Alma's dress was still intent on spreading, and it caught his attention.

_A crossbow bolt_, Teta thought numbly. She had seen such things before; her father usually hunted in order to supplement his work as a chocobo breeder. The small, thin length of iron had fallen out of the sky and struck her best friend. In which direction had it come from? She turned to the north and saw the fuzziest image of a boy. There was no wind, but she could hear a slight whistling sound. There was a pain in her abdomen that left her winded, and the next thing she knew she was on the ground and someone was opening her robe.

"Teta!" Her brother, she recognized. "Teta, you should be fine. It hit the pouch...damn, all the supplies are ruined." He said other things, but once she heard him say that she was alright it seemed that she felt a bit better. The lavender dress that she had worn underneath the robe felt soaked with the fluids of potions and ethers, and when she sat up and looked down she noticed wet, ruined feathers stuck to her dress and...

The phoenix downs.

Hot tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as the full realization struck her. Alma was dead, and she was going to stay dead.

"Teta," she could dimly hear her brother through the thick rolls and tumbles of her anguish, "I will be right back. Take care of Ramza."

"Where..." she breathed, feeling nauseous.

"To find that shooter. I will...take care of him." Delita patted her on the head awkwardly before leaving. The meaning of his words were not lost on her, and it scared her. A lot of things scared her, but Alma had always been there to comfort her and make her smile. Did she ever give anything back? Teta couldn't remember. Was she ever as good of a friend as Alma was to her?

Teta couldn't remember.

She turned, automatically closing her robe despite the fact that she was wearing clothes underneath it, and stared at Alma. Her best friend had lines of tension on her face, pink lips frozen in a pale grimace. That wasn't an expression that should be on Alma's face; the girl had a face for grinning and laughing and being annoyed and being _happy_. She had never been a girl who had felt pain for too long; she had roared through life like a fireball, blazing and sparking and dancing.

_But what can I do about it_, Teta wondered. _I can barely use the lowest level cure spell...I had no potential, not like Alma. I wish I could..._

She stopped, her mind having latched onto something. Maybe there was something she could do.

-0-

Miluda could still remember that day, that warm September day when she had turned sixteen. She had been a squire in those days, despite her nearly two years of service in the Lionel Holy Knights. Wiegraf had been twenty-two, a year away from being a Holy Knight and three away from being a White Knight. Their parents had been dead for less than a year, and her brother had gotten special permission from the Cardinal to move back home from the barracks and watch over her. In those days she had been wild with grief, and the siblings often clashed. That, coupled with the treatment she was receiving as the lone female of the cadets, and it was a small wonder that she hadn't snapped from the pressure.

It had been a nice day, and after her morning training she had went home, where her brother and Beowulf had surprised her with a cake and presents. Neither Folles sibling liked sweets very much, so Miluda had decided to take the leftovers and give it to an elderly neighbor of theirs who lived with grandchildren. She had left by herself while the men stayed to clean up, but hadn't gotten very far when she had been intercepted by Gustav Margueriff.

Gustav was three, almost four years older and was a knight. They had never liked each other very much. He was one of the people who went after her daily, and since he was the knight who oversaw the training of her squire group she had no way of ever getting fair treatment. She persevered, and that just angered him.

That day, he had asked her very kindly to come with him to the barracks, for he had something to show her. With her exceptionally good mood clouding her judgment she had agreed, and they went off to the barracks. The building had been empty, and she had demanded to know what was going on. The memory was always fuzzy at this point, but she still remembered the pain as he slammed her against a wall. She still remembered his hands trying to rip down the front of her tunic as he pressed himself against her smaller body. She still remembered him telling her that this was what she deserved for being an uppity commoner bitch who didn't know her place, his words of hate hot against the side of her neck. Maybe there was more she didn't want to remember, but the next clear action on her part was reaching for the dagger she always kept on her person and jabbing the tip of it very lightly against his groin. He moved away then. She ran home, calmly arranging her clothes so that everything looked alright. She had told her brother once that she could handle her own life, and she had meant it.

But then Gustav told the commander of the Lionel Holy Knights that the squire Miluda Folles had pulled a knife on him. There was an uproar, with many people demanding that she be kicked out of the knighthood. Women were thought to be too unstable for the rigors of training, and young Miluda had just proved that. There was also support for her; Gustav wasn't very liked. Wiegraf had interrogated her, knowing that something must have happened for her to act in such a way, but she never told. The incident cost her any chance of ever becoming a Holy Knight, and her knighting had been deferred until she was nearly twenty years old, an ancient age for a member of a knight family like she was. Many, many times she had wondered if she should have told someone, but she knew that she would've never been looked favorably upon. What would Gustav have wanted with a scrawny little squire when he could've had someone more feminine?

As he idly moved the tip of the sword down her neck, cutting through the collar and leaving her neck bare, she wished not for the first time that she had rammed that dagger into him and left him to bleed like a stuck porky. At least that.

"Miluda, Miluda," he whispered, tapping his sword against the Holy Knight uniform's breastplate, "what am I going to do with you?"

"How about you let me go, you sick bastard?" she retorted. He chuckled, jabbing the tip of his sword into the hollow of her throat. Wincing at this, she could feel the blood trickle past her collarbone, pooling at the top of her breastplate. She needed to escape; the hunger in his eyes was more apparent now that he was hindered from cutting away more pieces of her uniform.

"Sing for me, Miluda." The blade, slick with her blood, was moving up to her face again. "Your friend did, but I didn't like her voice. She was crying too much to beg properly. You've put me through a lot, so why don't you start apologizing for that first?"

Casually, she let her hands move along the grass. She couldn't look down to see if her sword was nearby, and it wasn't what she was looking for anyway. "Why don't you go to hell, Gustav? It'll save me a lot of time," she drawled, a confident smile gracing her bruised face.

"You sound more and more like a man every time I see you," he said, a hint of anger touching his words. "Such a vulgar woman. Wiegraf raised you badly."

Her smile only grew as she found what she was searching for. She clenched it in her hand while continuing to beguile him with the words of a gutter siren. "My parents raised me very well, Lucavi-spawn. Unlike yours, mine actually wanted me."

Gustav, who had been abandoned to the Lionel parish at a young age, was noticeably angry at these words. The tip of the sword scraped a path to her lips, poking insistently between them. "That's it, you little bitch. Open up," he taunted as he jabbed a little harder, pleased at the blood welling up and tainting her lips dark red, "come on. Take it in. Give me a little show and maybe I'll forgive you. Believe me, you'll want me to forgive you now."

In a very deliberate manner, Miluda raised her right fist, one finger proudly standing above her balled hand. In the barest second between naked shock and raging fury, she pulled her head away and threw the rock she had clenched in her hand. She had already turned away as a loud crack and the resulting yell of pain filled the air, her hands on the hilt of the sword her mother had bequeathed to her. It hurt to stand up so quickly, the thin layer of scabbing on her wound reopening with the movement, but she faced him with a strong stance. "You stupid bastard," she spat, red spittle flying from her lips, "you think you can make me act like a Dorter whore?"

There was a terrific plum-colored bruise splattered under one of Gustav's olive eyes. Anger danced within those eyes, yet there was something lax in his own stance as he held his sword. "Sure I can," he grunted, managing a small smile for his next words, "I did with your friend."

The fury came over Miluda then, that lovingly familiar wrath that she had adopted and nurtured to make herself stronger. There was no more Lionel chain of command, no cries for help from the Limberry streets, nothing to hold her back. No holding back. She was going to enjoy this.

_Sally, watch me_, she thought as she dashed towards Gustav, _I'll avenge you!_

-0-

Gingerly, Teta knelt before Ramza and Alma, reaching out and taking Alma's hands in hers, entwining their fingers together. There was dirt and wet soil on Alma's soft palms and fingers, the grittiness not bothering the girl who had helped on her parents' small chocobo field as a child. Even though she had been a ward of the Beoulves for over two years, the experiences of her childhood always seemed to wash over the proper life she lived now. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on remembering the early days of her stay in the castle.

_-So then, you will be living with us from now on? Wonderful! We will be good friends, the best!_-

Teta smiled. Alma's exuberance had sent her into quite a tizzy in those days, unused to anything more than a quiet enthusiasm for raising chocobos. She had shied away from the blonde initially, choosing instead to hide in her room or stay around her brother. But Delita was getting along very well with Ramza, and she did not want to interfere with her brother's friendships.

_-Teta, I was so overjoyed in hearing that I would have a girlfriend to converse with that I may have acted overbearingly. But still, I want us to become good friends. Can we?_-

When Alma had said those words to her, Teta had felt so horrible. She never meant to be so cold, she had just been nervous with the light of Alma's affection solely on her. From then on she tried her hardest to push away her shyness, if only for Alma's sake, and once she had done that she had finally begun to enjoy herself. They would venture out of the castle and have supervised picnics, or explore the nooks and crannies within the castle proper. They would talk about their parents, sharing the details of their very different lives. Alma had taught her manners, and she taught Alma about chocobo breeds and their varied purposes. Locked within the cold walls of Orbonne, they had been inseparable.

It was a pulse, not the one beating under her skin, but rather one that drew inward and expanded outward around her body. It beat in time with her heart, this aural manifestation of her life force, and she was not scared of wielding it.

_How can I repay your kindness, Alma?_

All that studying at Orbonne, and Teta was incapable of using it in the fashion it was intended for. Bishop Simon himself had taken her aside and expressed concern over her meager abilities in harnessing her magical potential. Alma had been a natural, even more than a natural; her potential equaled that of a solar flare, though her technique could've used some work. Princess Ovelia had a steady pulse of magic, and her control over it was superb. Teta, however, had neither the Ruglia or Atkascha lineages to draw from, only the magical potential of a family of common laborers.

Laborers who only knew how to give of themselves, year after year, in order that the fruits of their labor might flourish.

She felt tired but figured that it was to be expected when she was drawing the entirety of her life into this, the magnum opus of all the times she used her life to restore others. It was a skill taught to her by her brother, and they had respectively taught it to Alma and Ramza. It didn't have a name, only a purpose.

"Teta...what are you doing?" She opened her eyes and stared directly into Ramza's dulled expression. That was not how he was supposed to be. His kindness overtook even Alma's. Kind people should never have to suffer.

"Wishing," Teta murmured. The pulse was overtaking her. It was time.

Using the theories of curative application she had gleaned from her studies, she let her life wash over Alma's body. The main theory was that all living creatures had a set number of major 'lifepoints' inside them. These lights, in turn, fueled the body and gave it energy. Old age and death occurred because the lifepoints could not maintain the flow of energy indefinitely, just as a fire cannot burn forever. There were such things as phoenix downs and life magic, but they could only re-ignite lights that had been forcefully shut off, not the ones weakened by the rigors of life maintenance. Curatives kept dimmed lights aglow, but they as well could do nothing for the lifepoints burning out naturally.

Teta lit each lifepoint within Alma carefully, as if she was calming down a flock of frightened chocobos. She touched each point gently, nurturing it, feeding it, and finally letting it go when it was full with her energy. The accelerated regeneration of such a thorough healing caused the body to force out the small bolt that had ended its life, then healing the broken capillaries and skin so perfectly that there was no mark left behind. Sluggish but determined to finish the process right, Teta poured her essence into making sure every light was lit without a deviance between any two of them.

She felt Alma come to life, each lifepoint flaring brilliantly until the light flooded through Alma's being. Her job done, she withdrew into her own body, unsurprised that there was nothing left. She had given everything, and it made her happy that she could use herself to affect another so wonderfully.

Teta's body fell forward onto Alma's lap. The young brunette only wanted to cling long enough to see her friend look at her, to know that it had worked just as well as she had felt it to. But she was fading.

_-I'm curious to know what your strength is_-

_It's too bad_, Teta thought fuzzily, _we'll never find out. I hope Delita will not hate me..._

The Ivalician belief regarding death was that it was cold and dark for an unspecified amount of time before the soul reached heaven. The amount of time depended on how many wrongs a person committed in their life. Teta had heard about it in church, and so she was ready for her purgatory. But as she drifted away, a bright light flooded through her being.

Her parents were waiting for her in a bright and beautiful field, and they hugged her and told her how proud they were of their darling daughter.

-0-

Gafgarion was a good fighter, Wiegraf knew. A poor warrior, but a good fighter. It was in this ideological difference, between someone who reveled in battle versus someone who was technically skilled in the same, that separated himself from his own sister. Miluda honestly enjoyed battle, but he was more competent at it than she. It was unfortunate that he had to face someone like himself, a knight who favored defense and cautious tactics. It was even more unfortunate that this knight couldn't have cared less about the rules of a duel. Wiegraf would hit the old man, and Gafgarion would scurry away and drain him. Of course he could've done the same, he could've used the Crush Sword skill and hoped for the secret of the skill to compress the Dark Knight's organs, but such a deviance from his normally honorable ways would've been more of a blow to his sense of self than death. He intended to die with honor when that time came. He told Miluda that he was going to see her at the end of the battle, and he was always true to his word.

But Gafgarion was getting on his nerves.

He struck a glancing blow to the old man's sword arm and pressed forward, hoping to capitalize on the advantage. But like all the other times the Dark Knight feinted, moved away from the White Knight, and proceeded to drain off a little more of Wiegraf's life. It was obvious that Gafgarion had survived much of his life due to that one tactic, and it frustrated Wiegraf immensely. In fact, he was about ready to toss down his sword and shield and just lay into the old man like they were in a bar brawl...

_Actually, that's not such a bad idea._

Wiegraf tossed away his shield but held onto his sword, watching in amusement as puzzlement flittered across the Dark Knight's face. Yet, he did not hold onto the hilt with both hands, instead keeping his usual style. With his right hand curled into a fist, he concentrated on honing his energy.

_-See, it's not so difficult. I mean, you're an elite knight, so you gotta know about these sorta things. Swords and fists can be wielded the same way, y'know?_-

When he thought he had it, he relaxed. On paper, the idea seemed alright, but his analytical mind had already gouged holes into the flimsy sheet. But it was a better alternative than breaking dueling rules...well, completely breaking dueling rules. He rushed forward, noting that Gafgarion was already on guard. Parrying a slash aimed at his chest, he smashed Gafgarion's sword down, away from the elderly man's face. His one-handed strength greater than the Dark Knight's, Wiegraf made a fist with his right hand, let the energy run through his arm, and unleashed a glowing orb of varying blue and violet straight into Gafgarion's face. The older man was surprised by the skill and stumbled away, one hand shielding his face while the other held his sword unsteadily. Wiegraf took the advantage, stabbing Gafgarion just below the dark brown breastplate.

When he pulled away, the Dark Knight fell, the mortal blow giving the old man no chance to use the malevolent Night Sword skills. Gafgarion writhed on the ground for a long moment, his blood spilling onto the grass. "Dyce...bastard..." he groaned before his body went still.

Wiegraf ran his free hand through his hair, his hazel-green eyes narrowed at the usurper's last words. '_Dyce' ...Dycedarg Beoulve? I thought as much_, he mused. _I doubt Zalbag would accept hearsay from me though, particularly in regards to his own brother's misdeeds._

Weakened from the battle, his body seemed to groan in dismay as he bent over to pick up his discarded shield. Sitting down on the ground, he sighed as he caught sight of Gafgarion's corpse. _A sword and a fist are the same...I believe you, Salia. But I still feel a little guilty about it._

_I'm sorry I'm not the one to avenge you. Miluda has more of a reason to, though. But you probably already knew that, didn't you? She actually talked to you. I wish I was the one facing him, though. Miluda, and then you...Salia, I..._

He sighed again. Judging by the way his thoughts were headed, he was about to immerse himself into the deep, dark ocean of his guilt and regrets, something he had no intention of wading through while the remnants of the battle were still ongoing. He wasn't feeling very well regardless; the blood loss was making his thoughts disjointed and his stomach roil.

As carefully as he could, he placed his sword across his lap and concentrated on its silver sheen. It was marred with blood, but many of the dulled stains on it had been there long before he received it at his father's funeral. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind enough to piece together a prayer.

_God in heaven, watch over her. Protect Miluda. Protect my sister..._

In ten minutes he would feel better. He would look for his sister then, and hope that her body was not one of the ones littering the field.

-0-

Iron clashed with steel, a clap of thunder on a clear afternoon. Every time their swords thundered, Miluda could feel the difference between their physical strength reverberate through her arms. He bore down upon her easily, breaking through her already weakened defenses, aggravating the wound he had laid into her back by forcing her to rely more on her smaller and lighter frame to twist and turn away from his strikes. She parried away his sword from cutting into her left side, breathing heavily through clenched teeth as her wound complained at the action, screaming along her nerve endings. The shock disoriented her, and in the second it took for her to regain her stance metal tore through her upper right arm. Stumbling back, she barely raised her sword in time to block a thrust to her heart, wincing as he continued to land blow upon blow onto her sword and causing tremors to run through her arms.

This new wound seemed superficial compared to the one on her back, and so she ignored the pain that spiked through her right arm and swung, surprising Gustav and forcing him to defend against a slash aimed at his left side. With a grimace that constituted a smile, Miluda pressed down on his block for a moment before she pivoted sharply, cutting open a good-sized gash along his unprotected right side, just below his ribs. He cried out, sending her away with a wild slice before glancing at the wound she had carved into him. "You bitch!" he exclaimed, and from that she knew that the injury was even better than she had thought it to be.

"Aww, poor Gustav doesn't like it when the woman hits back, hmm?" she mocked, a little delirious from the loss of blood. "Come on, I'll make it better. A minute or two of pain, and it'll all be over."

"Not for you. When this is over, I'll make sure it lasts a long time for you."

"Try it. This time, I'm going to bury my sword in you. Might do it anyway before I kill you."

"Hm." Gustav smiled, the gesture never reaching his eyes. "I guess I'll have to break your wrists first, just like with Sally."

"You don't have the right to call her that!" she screamed, brandishing her sword. Charging at him, her attack was easily parried away, earning herself a long, shallow cut along the length of her left arm. She gritted her teeth and slashed downward, forcing him to be on guard.

"You're always screaming," he grunted. Using his much greater strength, he shoved her back, smashing the rounded bottom of his hilt against the side of her face. Miluda went down with a strangled cry, just as quickly propelling herself up and away from him in order to avoid any follow up attacks. Gingerly, she prodded the inside of her mouth with her tongue, testing to see if anything had been broken or loosened. To her relief it just hurt, throbbing wildly with the force of a fish flopping on dry land.

"And I'll keep screaming," she ground out. Her face was hurting with the force of the punch from earlier as well as this new blow, but discretion had never been the better part of valor to her. "I'll keep yelling. I'll keep drawing everyone's attention. I'll show you what I can do!"

"You think people will respect some screeching harridan?" Gustav laughed lowly, each exhale of air grinding down on her nerves. "Look at you, dressed like a knight, waving a sword around. But let's be serious, Miluda. If you were meant to be strong, you would've been born a man."

She smiled thinly, shaking her head and ignoring the agony those movements entailed. "And that's exactly what I'm fighting against. How the hell do people like you get to exist and grow up and affect things while all the good people die? Why do people like you get to go around and take whatever you want while the rest of us suffer?" Her mouth tasted like blood, even mere words having a toll on her condition. She spat on the ground before continuing with, "You think you're strong, preying on the weak? Hah...you're nothing more than a coward."

"You're a bigger dreamer than your brother ever was," he sneered. "I'm a coward? Maybe I hit you too hard, or maybe I haven't hit you enough." Shaking his head, he took a step towards her, speaking slowly as if she was too stupid to understand. "I take what I want. The fact that no one can stop me shows how strong I am. Just like the nobles. That's true power."

There was a ringing in her head that she just couldn't seem to shake away. Through narrowed eyes she focused on him. He was in much better condition than she was. She hated to admit it, but there was a very good chance that she might not be able to avenge her friend. _Well then_, she thought grimly, _let's shake things up a bit. Here I am charging like a minitaurus, but he can work around that. Hm..._

"Well, well, well, that's power, huh?" She smiled, though her eyes were devoid of emotion. "Forcing women to do what you want is power? You're a real man. Yet, I seem to recall a little sixteen-year-old girl who forced you to back off." Her smiled hardened when the rage began dancing across Gustav's face. "Some man you are."

He charged at her like lightning racing towards the ground, but she was ready for him. The iron blade raced towards her neck, his intention simply to hack off her head. Ducking, she slashed him horizontally across his ribcage, blood flying as she tore into him. Going in for a killing blow by way of disembowelment, she was warded off with a glancing slash at the exposed skin just above her breastplate. Though the wound was superficial, it felt like raging fire, forcing her to move back and assess her injuries again.

However she felt, she couldn't help but enjoy the pain flashing in his eyes as he pressed a hand to his abdomen. They were both drenched with blood and sweat, reeking of metal to the high heavens, and yet Miluda was sincerely enjoying the fight. She rarely faced anyone who could match her strength these days, and the fact that this was for revenge only made the agony sweeter. There was a lot of agony, though. More than she was used to. She could feel it in the way her head and back throbbed, how her right arm was slowly going numb. One more connecting strike, two at most, and she was dead.

"Come a little closer," she taunted him, her voice a sickly lilt. "As that girl, I deserve to carve my initials into you."

He grinned, pulling his hand away from his ribs and back to the hilt of his sword. "You know, I just remembered something interesting. I thought you'd like to hear it, since it has to do with that cute little monk friend you're trying so hard to avenge." Coughing once, he briefly touched the wound under his ribcage until he could get his breathing regulated. "Do you want to hear it, Miluda?"

Holding her sword at her side, the tip pointing downward, the lady knight looked suspicious and irritated. "How about you just shut up instead?"

"Best damn feeling in the world's breaking in a new girl," he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Strange though, someone got to your friend long before I ever did."

"I don't want to hear it!"

"I mean, maybe your friend was just a whore. She was from Yardow, right? Just popped up in Lionel wearing one of those tight monk uniforms. Yeah, that wouldn't surprise me."

"Shut up, Gustav!"

"Then again, she wasn't just your friend. She spent a lot of time with Wiegraf. What's with that look, you didn't know?"

Shaking the look of surprise off of her face, Miluda glared at Gustav. "Shut. Up."

He smiled, a reflex to her anger. "Guess not. So, your best friend and your brother were fucking behind closed doors, and no one cared enough to tell you. You certainly put yourself out for the best people, don't you? Is that what's bothering you?" An eyebrow arched in a mocking parody of a concerned friend as he shifted his stance, becoming more relaxed as Miluda began to tremble. "Or maybe it's something else? Maybe you're thinking of all the young women he recruited and wondering just how many of them he had. That'd be a shame. All this time you've been fighting for equality, being the 'Bloody Valkyrie' and murdering anyone who uses and takes, and in the end your own brother was _just like me_."

By nature, Miluda Folles was used to being angry. Being angry helped to steady herself, to see the situation clearly, to focus on doing what she believed was the right thing. But never before had she been so outrageously furious, so deeply enraged. It was like she was in the heart of the sun, drowning in lava, dancing in the heart of Bahamut's dragonfire. It was mindless hate, and she did not enjoy it.

But he had went too far.

It was a dead sprint, legs cutting through the air and pounding onto the ground. She could've been screaming, but she couldn't hear anything other than the insistent rhythm of her heartbeat in her ears. Despite this, she felt like she was being guided, her sword wanting to plunge itself into that man's heart just as much as she wanted it.

As she bore down upon him, she could clearly see him raise his sword up, horizontal and level with her head. But then she was moving her head and letting the blade cut into her cheekbone and a part of her ear and she was sinking her sword into his stomach up, up, _up_. She was looking up and he was looking down, their eyes meeting, their gazes connecting. There was mild surprise in his dark green eyes, the pupils dilated until all there was was green on white. Something hot flowed onto her gloved hands, soaking through the thick rawhide and drenching her fingers. A trickle of blood began to make its arduous journey down from the corner of his lips. All this, and it was his eyes that drew her. For once they looked human, scared, instead of metal cold and wanting.

She liked it better when he was a monster. For him to look so human was an unforgivable crime.

Clenching her blood-soaked hands, she was reminded of the hilt in her hands. While staring into the depths of his soul, she plunged the rest of the blade into him and watched as the light of his eyes dimmed. There was more blood pouring out of his mouth, a veritable waterfall flowing from him onto her. Slowly, she relaxed her grip. Unsupported with her strength, his body fell, landing on the grass with nothing more than the rustle of the green blades to acknowledge his passing.

Suddenly, she wasn't feeling so well. She wasn't used to feeling so lightheaded, like she was drifting out of her body. Numbly she fell onto her knees, the discomfort not registering with her mind.

_Sally...is that good enough?_

The blood was flowing from her wounds. They had been ignored for so long that they were bound to feel neglected. She wasn't feeling the pain anymore, though.

_Ah...Brother...I'm sorry..._

Her body fell to the side, but she wasn't feeling anything anymore.

-0-

Sighing heavily, Delita jogged towards the grove, trying not to think of his confrontation with the Hokuten-disguised Aegis Knight. The blond boy must've been his age, and yet seemed without remorse, not to talk of more than a little strange. All Delita had managed to understand through the Limberrian's rants was that Alma had not been shot on purpose, but then he got tired of being called an 'animal without God' and knocked the knight out. It seemed like someone else had done that earlier, judging by the large bump already on the boy's temple.

The battle was over when he glanced in the direction where the remnants of the Hokuten party were standing around. They were in the process of apprehending a couple of Death Knights. Delita shook his head at this. After all this, with bodies strewn around the field and his own friend killed by accident, and there were people cowardly enough to surrender. What was the point, he wondered, of struggling to live after everything they had was gone? Zalbag would probably have them executed anyway. At least dying now would've brought some sense of dignity.

The brunet frowned. But Alma had been killed here, and there was nothing dignified about her death. She sacrificed herself to save Ramza. Delita thought that was appropriate, somehow. She had been a giving soul. It was just so senseless, though.

He was nearing the grove, and his frown deepened as he saw his friends and sister. Something didn't seem right about the scene. Was Alma...moving? And what was wrong with Teta? He was running before he knew it, long legs nearly tripping over each other in his haste to return, to see why his sister was lying in the circle of Alma's arms. "Teta?" he called when he was close enough. His sister always jumped when she was yelled at.

Alma-_why was she alive again_, he wondered-looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "Delita..."

He looked from her tear-stained face upwards, taking in Ramza's saddened expression but not understanding the reason for it. Kneeling in front of Alma, Delita placed a hand on Teta's shoulder and shook her once, twice, but there was no response. "Give her to me," he ordered, his arms already around his sister's slim waist. Alma did as she was told, her lower lip trembling. "Teta, wake up," he whispered, rocking her gently. "Teta. Teta, get up." She was limp in his arms, her face peaceful. She only looked that way when she was sleeping, so he shook her again and again.

But she wasn't waking up.

"Delita..." Alma whispered again. He glanced at her, hating the way she looked so alive even with that bloodstain in the center of her white gown. She looked like she should've stayed dead, while his sister looked as if she was just sleeping. "Teta...isn't..." she choked, swallowing a sob before lowering her head so that he could only see the crown of her light blond head, "she isn't going to wake up..." Her voice collapsed into a fit of unrestrained sobs, and Ramza, who had his hands on her shoulders, pulled her against his chest.

Her crying was annoying Delita. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, looking from one Beoulve to the other. "Teta was fine when I left. She is not even injured. See?" He showed them the length of her form, unmarred except for blue stains on her white mage robe, where the healing items had shielded her from the shot from the crossbow. "She will be fine. She _has_ to be fine!"

Now Ramza was giving Delita a look of pity. "Delita..."

_No...no no no-_

"No!" The realization was dawning on the brunet, but he tried vainly to keep it at bay. "No, she's not dead! She can't be dead! She was fine when I left!"

_Did she die because I wasn't there?_

Both Beoulve siblings were looking at him with nothing but sympathy along the curves of their youthful faces. He hated that, and he hated them for it. "Delita, she did something...it was that skill you taught me," Ramza said, "she gave her life for Alma..."

_She wouldn't do that!_

"Why would she do that?" It was getting difficult for Delita to breathe, the thick rawness that was his throat constricting painfully. "Why the hell would she do that!"

"Please, Delita, I have been asking myself the same...I would rather stay dead than..." Alma struggled to stay calm, reaching out to touch Delita. He smacked her hand away, ignoring her cry of pain.

"Don't touch me," he hissed, "just stay away from me. It's because of you she's dead."

Any lingering bit of manufactured calm dissolved under a flurry of tears as Alma pressed her face into her hands. Ramza, now protectively holding his sister to him, glared at his friend. "Delita, she was just trying to help! I understand how you feel-"

"Shut up!" Delita struggled to stand, the weight of Teta's body hindering him. "You don't understand how I feel! You still have your sister! Why? You have other siblings, who cares if you lose one of them!" He was screaming now, his words flinging themselves out of his tightening throat before it completely closed. "Teta was my only sister! She was all I had!"

Alma cried louder, her wails alerting the Hokuten. One of the knights came over, his eyes surveying the scene. "We are ready to go, Master Ramza, Lady Alma," he said carefully.

Delita ignored them, walking away, trying to get away from all of them. It was because of them that Teta was dead. He could hear Ramza say something about staying behind, Alma wailing that she didn't want to leave her brother. Time seemed to fade away, hazy and undefined. He didn't know how long he had walked before he sat down again, rocking Teta's body and whispering to her one of her favorite stories. She had always liked to listen to fairy tales, and he had taken over the duty of storyteller after their father had died.

He heard footsteps while in the middle of describing the brave princess who took back her kingdom after her family had been ousted by evil vassals. The footfalls were so familiar that he didn't bother to turn around. "If you come near me, I'll kill you," he stated, his voice hoarse above the whispering level.

"Fine. I will wait over here for you," Ramza replied. There was the sound of grass being flattened, of the young Beoulve trying to find a comfortable position. Delita shook his head lightly before returning to the details of the princess' crimson hair.

-0-

Zalbag released a retrieval party to bring back the bodies of the fallen Hokuten for burial. They left at nightfall and came back the next morning.

That morning, they recounted to him what they had found. The news was so shocking that Zalbag himself set out for the site of the battle.

When he arrived, he saw all the bodies of the Death Knights, their blood staining the once pure field. But the news had been right.

Ramza and Delita could not be found.

-End to Chapter Eleven-

Heh...I didn't think that this chapter would get so long. I hope it was enjoyable; I was a little preoccupied with _Breath of Fire III_'s fishing minigame (only minigame that comes close to that level of addictiveness is FFIX's Chocobo Hot and Cold). This chapter may have a lot of errors, due to the double whammy of working on _Penitentes_ as well as helping a friend move. If you find any errors, don't hesitate to let me know!

You know, while working on the Miluda/Gustav battle, I came across a problem. How evil should a villian be? I mean, I needed Gustav to be someone worthy of hatred, but I also didn't want to make him some pale parody of the archetype of a scumbag. But then again, sympathetic villians are hard to hate. Plus, making a serial rapist sympathetic is...sickening to me. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much.

Before someone screams at me, Riovanes!Wiegraf has Punch Art for his secondary. Put on the Chameleon Robe and watch him Earth Slash and Wave Fist Ramza into oblivion...slowly. It's a great technique that the game itself seems to advocate, considering you can Move-Find a Chameleon Robe in that fight.

If I remember correctly, Wiegraf has a max PA of 17, Gafgarion 16. Gaffy's as strong as a regular female knight (Miluda), a generic female lancer, Meliadoul and Reis, to put it in perspective. I'm fairly certain that Gaffy has one speed higher than Wiegraf (14 to 13 at max). It would be an interesting battle if it weren't for the fact that Gafgarion really does rely on that 'Dark Sword and run away!' tactic a lot in-game.

Reviewers!

Yo, Trueborn Chaos! Hm...your Ramza must be either a Taurus or Capricorn for Wiegraf to inflict 168 damage with Lightning Stab, because that's Good compatibility damage. I mean, since Worst (Pisces) would be 70 damage. I'm sorry to say this, but you kinda sound overleveled.   
You're kinda right, Wiegraf has Maintenance support for his Riovanes duel. Before that, he has Gained JP Up and Two Hands for his first and second encounters.   
I'm really glad you liked the description of the chapter, I was really worried that I wasn't being descriptive enough! The Hokuten wouldn't have white mages necessarily, as white mages come mainly from Murond. Algus...bah, he's an idiot, but he's always portrayed as a product of his time. I tried to justify killing him here, but I couldn't so the bugger gets to live.   
I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter, as well as _Penitentes_!

...11, thank you so much for being considerate. I really appreciate it. Glad you liked this chapter! Let's see, I remember having Algus show up in Ch. 3, but I just never named him, just to let you know. Thanks once again!

Hey Luna, how's it going? I'm really happy you liked-or were at least stunned by-the battle descriptions. I used to get in fights a lot, so it's easy to transfer those experiences into what I think true battle is like.  
Miluda is my favorite character in this whole story, probably because she's...different. She and Zalbag are a lot of fun to write, and I guess that shows. Right now, I'd really love to focus on the adults of FFT instead of the old Ramza-Delita-Alma standby, though they're cool too. But really, kill off Wiegraf? No, I can't do that...that's kinda predictable, isn't it?  
Stupid Algus. Jerk's lucky I'm letting him live...for now.


	13. 12: Drained Blood

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

Chapter Twelve: Drained Blood

Springtime in Ivalice had always been more than just a season; it was the pulse of the land, the reason for its very name. An especially fecund land, Ivalice did not falter in this year's bounty of plump fruits of all kinds as well as fields of light grasses as far as the eye could see. With the news that the Death Knights had been eradicated from the fair land, travelers began to roam the fields in earnest for a variety of reasons-everything from hunting to visiting faraway villages to exploring for the sake of exploring. The warmth of May had set in, dissuading the chilly winds originating from Larner Channel. The streets of the villages were filled with people while the sun made its daily trek across the sky, and while precious few were able to stop and enjoy the day for more than a few minutes at a time, everyone would agree that the late springtime weather simply made life sweeter to live.

The castle, a brilliant white that stood out from the green and blue that sandwiched it, picked up little of the vivacious quality that had given a spring to the step of the villagers; most of the people who called the castle home were saddled with enough duties that just going outside for a break was unfathomable to them. Only the knights of the halls had been granted the fortune of being able to wander the grounds, albeit for guard duty. Many of the less disciplined knights snuck out rolls of fresh bread and meandered around the perimeter of the castle until they could find an alcove in which to hide themselves while they ate; although many of them were eventually found by their superiors and punished for disregarding their duties to their hall and country, it was not a routine that was going to end anytime soon. After all, there was still summer and fall to contend with, excellent times to pluck off a juicy plum or to steal away a warm apple strudel while protecting a castle that had never been attacked.

Not everyone could contemplate falling into such capricious behavior, especially not the maids of Gallionne and Zeltennia. Bending over to change bedsheets, carrying heavy loads of laundry and jars of water for washing said laundry, dusting carefully over and around precious antiques, and chasing their lords and ladies' mischievous children had long since burned out any spark of playful fun in these young ladies. They carried with them a sort of sardonic humor towards their common situation, that as commoners sold to ease the debts of starving families. Working for fairly decent wages, most of their hard-earned gil was sent back to those same families; natural resentment aside, the maids understood that it was only in necessity that they had been separated from their families in such a way.

One of the easiest noble families to work for had always been the Beoulve house. When Balbanes had been alive he would dazzle the young maids with his courteous behavior, kindness they had never expected from the lord of the house. Most of the maids who worked at the Beoulve home today remembered well his second wife, Sarai, for her reasonable and thoughtful nature. After all, she was one of them, and she knew of the hardships they had had to suffer in their short lives. Now, there wasn't much of a family to clean up after; the elder brothers from the first marriage worked, ate and slept in their offices, while the younger siblings from the second marriage were too young to affect the household very much. The Beoulves were leaves scattered by the wind, and that suited the maids just fine.

Like clockwork-seven in the morning, noon, and five in the afternoon-a maid would stop by Alma's room. She would call out, "Lady Alma? I have your meal here. You should eat something, my lady." In the maid's arms would be a platter of food consisting of bread, fruits and a glass of water, which the maid would leave it at the door. The next hour another maid would stop by and check to see if the platter had been taken, and if not then how much food was left, before going over to Zalbag's office to give a report on Lady Alma's eating habits. There were good days, when a small portion of the bread and fruit would appear to be missing, and then there were bad days, when the platter was left untouched.

Sometimes Zalbag himself would approach his sister's room and attempt to cajole her into coming out. Her only reply were questions: "Have you found Ramza yet? Or Delita?" The answer to that question was always no, and she would never respond.

Worn down by his sister's refusal to leave her room, his own inability to find even a trace of his younger brother, and his elder brother's colder than usual demeanor, Zalbag kept to his usual schedule on little more than reflex. There was little he could do for anybody and less he could do for himself. He was finding more gray hairs, and his twenty-ninth birthday was a little more than a month away.

For the maids, their new routine of serving food to their Lady Alma and reporting to Master Zalbag lasted for two weeks. Each day seemed to try and outdo the last in the spectrum of utter gorgeousness, but every maid of the Beoulve family agreed that there was nothing but bleak, gray weather within the noble family's home.

-0-

When it came to interesting news to shuttle around the rumor channels that connected the halls, the last two weeks had been more eventful than usual. Gallionne's Hokuten was praised for their work in ending the threat of the Death Knights. Those of the blue-and-white-shrouded hall who had had a relative or friend killed during the battle were only proud to know that their beloved fallen's sacrifice had not been in vain. This victory bothered Zeltennia, who prided themselves on being the most battle-ready warriors of the land. There was an old adage about this: Zeltennia liked to stab a man wherever they could hack into him, while Gallionne preferred to make that man fold himself over his own sword. It certainly proved true when word got around about how Zalbag had coordinated a brilliant baiting plan, though many of the nobles who had seen the 'princess' off were quite annoyed to find that they had been tricked as well.

Murond had quite a bit of attention directed towards itself as well, though it was aimed more at the residents of the religious hall. There were the former leaders of the Death Knights, though word about them was practically nonexistent. Many conflicting reports about the survival of one or both of them emerged, but the Pillars had been unusually tight-lipped about it. There was good reason for that; some of the Limberry Aegis Knights temporarily residing in Zeltennia had been vocal about their desire to destroy the Death Knights entirely, just as the rogue Death Knights had attempted to destroy their beloved village. The other renowned resident of Murond happened to be Princess Ovelia herself, and information on that surprising revelation was even more difficult to find than it was for the sibling leaders of the Death Knights. Duke Larg and his advisors would only say that it was for the princess' education.

Not like Vormav Tingel cared. He didn't have to make excuses about anything, not even about his current indulgence at the top of one of Murond's turrets. Gray smoke lazily curled from his cigarette, imported from Romanda. Tobacco was not a plant that could be introduced to Ivalice; the land did not have the right soil or temperature. His wife had hated his smoking, systematically destroying every stick anytime he had received the goods. He had finally quit when she became sick, but now when the stress became too much he fell right back into his old habit. It was a hateful thing and he disdained his weakness, but he couldn't help himself.

"I thought I would find you here," a voice called out. Vormav didn't bother to turn around, keeping his eyes on the vast field below.

"Rofel. You seem to be the only person I can count on these days."

"Why, thank you. I have to admit, it was quite difficult to wrest the lovely princess away."

Vormav chuckled humorlessly before taking another drag. Damned things were drawing him in. "Oh? Did she not want to leave?"

"Well, to be honest, she seemed most grateful to leave. Perhaps she caught wind of their plan?"

"Did you find out with what?"

"Certainly not with mosfungus," Rofel said wryly. "I think it was going to be with the main ingredient for ethers. It would induce psychic shock while burning out her magic reserves, which would force her entire body to shut down rather quickly. Then, it would be easy for Gallionne to point fingers at Orbonne and claim that they had never properly taught our princess how to control her magic."

"Which hurts us." Grinding the burning end of the stick into the smooth stone of the turret, Vormav tossed it away before he turned to his second-in-command. "Dycedarg is too smart for his own good."

"If he were smarter, he would realize that his list of enemies is growing steadily."

"In Zeltennia?"

"No, his brother. I talked to Zalbag recently. It would appear that Lord Beoulve is quite the insensitive brother, what with his determined ignorance of the situation with his family. Usually one has to draw the complaint at hand from our esteemed Holy Knight, but now he seems to be quite irritated."

"If Balbanes were alive today, that family would not have become so fragmented." Vormav took a deep breath of the cleansing air before he shook his head. "One day that matter will be settled."

Rofel lowered his head, his ever-present hood shielding much of his face. "I still feel that would be inadvisable."

"Your thoughts on the matter are of none of my concern," the Pillar of Strength blandly responded. Turning away, he introduced a new topic. "What of the High Priest?"

Concern shone in the other man's eyes at his leader's first comment, but at the question veiled annoyance quickly replaced it. "Cranky and irritable, his usual state. He demands that you complete the rest of the assignment before he dies."

"Why has he not by now? I should hope to live to seventy, not to talk of his age."

"Perhaps he will survive as long as God's will is still unfulfilled."

"Then I will find a black knight today. God can have him."

Only the smallest hint of a grin broke through the Pillar of Knowledge's lips, sunlight through a crack between clouds. This conversation had been played a hundred times before, all with little variation between any two of them. Their mutual dislike for the undisputed leader of Murond and the Order of Glabados emerged during their latest mission, one that had gone on ever since King Omdolia passed away. "If only," he remarked, causing Vormav to respond with a bark of laughter.

They resented their mission, but they understood why it had to be carried out.

"They were really going to kill the princess, were they not?" There was something of disgust entwined with a real, aching regret.

"Yes."

A long pause occurred before Vormav shook his head again. "My son turns seventeen in two days. He is only a year older than her, is that not correct?"

"Yes."

"Sickening."

Rofel pursed his lips. "Yes."

-0-

_She remembered the room the best. It was a nice sitting room in a grand manor. The couches had been a bit stiff even with their padding, but it wasn't as if her home was any better in that regard. The sitting room was very nicely decorated, with a definite woman's touch gracing each selected painting. Looking directly in front of her, Miluda could see why. On either side of Marquis Mesdoram Elmdor was a lovely lady, both of them dressed in comfortable foreign robes closed with ornately decorated ties. The Marquis had introduced them as his most trusted vassals, Mademoiselles Celia and Lede, women without family names and with the bulges of daggers underneath their clothes. It was easy to guess what their former jobs had been, and what their current jobs were now. They moved easily, precisely, a hint of danger in every step. Their lord moved in the same way, his silver-blond hair flowing over his shoulders as he turned and gestured and introduced with a kinetic energy like water tumbling majestically down Zirekile Falls. Miluda was quite impressed, although she hid it well. Beside her, Wiegraf was equally inscrutable, although that was admittedly normal for him._

_Time flashed forward through the pleasantries and into the business part of the meeting. Her brother talked and talked, his words plainly impressing the lord of Limberry. She was bored and wished that her best friend had been here as well, but Salia had wanted to see the shops and the architecture of the houses. Being the assistant leader of the Death Knights has some drawbacks after all, she remembered thinking, her eyes lingering over the details of the mahogany mantle behind the marquis and his entourage. God, Wie, can't you finish it up anytime before supper. On and on, I swear-_

_A piercing scream sounded from the front of the manor, and continued as the occupants of the sitting room dashed towards the spacious atrium. A serving girl was there, pointing wildly at the open door. "The Death Knights are attacking, my lord! They've killed Clara at the market, and I..." She showed her arm, where a large gash steadily bled out over her simple clothes._

_Miluda could feel the gazes of the three very dangerous people, even though they had barely turned to acknowledge her and her brother. Wiegraf was already trying to convince them that he had no clue as to this plot, and it was during his torrent of words that a young Death Knight archer limped towards them. The elder of the two vassals, the baby-faced Celia, was already pulling out a naked blade from her robe while Wiegraf hurried to the young boy's side. "What's going on?" he demanded. The boy stumbled and fell into her brother's arms._

_"Sir Wiegraf...Gafgarion...he's betraying us. Most of them are..." the archer wheezed out. He was a mess, with the many cuts on his arms and chest bleeding profusely. "They want...destruction of this place. The rest of us are fighting..." Even as he said that, Miluda could see the boy's breathing slow as if he was under that namesake spell. He died a moment later, and Wiegraf softly laid him onto the ground._

_"May the poor child find his way to Heaven," Marquis Elmdor murmured, his hands quickly forming the four gestures of the Order of Glabados. "Celia, alert and aid the Aegis Knights. The first priority is to save the villagers. Lede, with me," he paused, "Sir Wiegraf, would you assist us?"_

_"Of course." Miluda watched her brother stand stiffly before turning to face her. The golden flecks in his hazel eyes seemed to be alit with inner fire, and from that she knew that he was more than just furious, he was also devastated. "Miluda, find Salia, then join up with us."_

_Miluda said nothing, her mind dulled by the events of the last few minutes. She sprinted off. Time sped up, twisted around for her until she noticed a bulky leather and wood gauntlet on the ground. She picked it up and stared into it, immediately finding the imprinted message she had once been shown to prove the veracity of her friend's claim: 'Monk of Yardow, Salia Lekoran'. She dropped it and began screaming, "Sally! Sally, where are you?"_

_Ten more steps and five more calls later was the spot for the other gauntlet. The lady knight looked around, disoriented, her throat grating and raw. The area she was in was obviously not why people of the village claimed Limberry as the most pleasant place to live; there were row houses made of knotted lumber on either side of her, the street in-between made of hard dirt and only as wide as an alley. She stumbled forward, calling for her friend._

_Two houses ahead, a door creaked open. Time was moving a flicker too fast, a hop, jump and skip forward so that what stood before her was Gustav, who was holding Salia in front of him by her strawberry-blond locks. The monk was barely standing by her own power. Much of the front of her uniform had been torn away, and there were deep indigo bruises marring the fair skin around her wrists. There seemed to be a huge dark blotch masking Gustav's face, the memory doing its best to protect Miluda even now, months after the event had taken place._

_Miluda took a step forward, shock preventing her from drawing her sword. "Sally...?"_

_Salia came to life then, pulling herself away from her captor's body. "Milly! You gotta escape! Tell Wiegraf Gafgarion and Gustav betrayed us! Someone from the castle's pulling all the strings! They wanna implicate -us- when they kill the princess!" Her head was yanked back and any other words she had to fling out were overpowered by an inarticulate cry._

_"You women never seem to know when to shut up," Gustav was saying as he drew his sword. Here, great gouges were torn out of the next moments, trying to protect Miluda even though she knew what was happening, what was going to happen, what had happened. The next clear picture was Salia's body sprawled face-first on the ground, blood gushing out of her slit throat. Suddenly, Miluda was holding her sword, ready to kill, tears streaming from her wide eyes._

_There were screams in the distance, pleas for mercy rending the air._

_Gustav heard them too, by the way he slowly shook his head. "They're calling for you, Miluda. Are you going to ignore them?"_

_She grit her teeth. The cries were getting louder. She was a knight. She swore to protect the people of Ivalice._

_She couldn't protect her best friend._

_"Damn you," she choked out, rage and grief playing over her attractive features. "I swear to God, I'm going to find you. I'm going to kill you!"_

_He was smiling even as his blade dripped crimson. "I believe you."_

_Miluda ran, telling herself that this was for the best. She had to place the lives of innocents above her own wishes. She was a knight to protect people!_

_But the tears wouldn't stop._

Miluda gasped and sat up, the wound on her back protesting weakly at the sudden movement. _Damn memories_, she thought irritably as she brought her hands up to her temples and began to rub vigorously. _I killed the bastard already, isn't that enough? Stop making me remember!_

There was a knock at the door. "Go away," she called, covering her face with her hands. She could hear the door open and she rolled her eyes. There was only one person she knew who would walk over whatever she wanted without a thought.

"Are you alright?" she heard her brother say, a touch of concern in his voice.

"Fine."

"You don't look it."

She flung her hands down and glared at Wiegraf. "I was feeling better before you barged in," she said through clenched teeth. For his part, Wiegraf was now slightly amused.

"Then, you're not really feeling fine, are you?"

Turning away, she crossed her arms over the thin cotton frock she had been forced to wear during her stay in Murond. During her first week there had been an enchantment placed on her bed so that she would float over it, something that had been done so that she wouldn't aggravate either the large wound on her back or the one on her arm. That had been dispelled once her cure treatments began to work in earnest. She found the white mages to be invasive, particularly once she had discovered that they had cut off some of her hair because the blood wouldn't wash out.

She couldn't wait to get out of this place.

"Is there something you came here for," she spoke to the wall, "or are you attempting to sharpen your wit? Thirty's too late for that."

"We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

When she turned her head back at this statement, she noted with some irritation that her brother had already made himself comfortable in the chair beside her bed. She hadn't even heard his footsteps. "Where to?" she couldn't help but ask. It seemed unlikely that Lionel would have them back after all the black marks they had garnered in the last six months.

He tilted his head, one eyebrow arched. "Home. Beowulf will be going with us to deliver a letter from the High Priest to the Cardinal, exonerating us from our 'crimes'."

"That's too easy," she whispered. "After everything that's happen, from being betrayed and framed to skulking around Orbonne to fighting against our own...and then we just go back home like nothing's happened?"

"Is it really such a bad thing?" He was watching her, his eyes tinged with mild curiosity. "At least we're able to do that much. We'll just settle back for a while and try to catch up on our daily lives."

"What?" That didn't sound like her brother, who always kept going with his ideas no matter the setback. "You're giving up on your dreams?"

Frowning at this, Wiegraf crossed his arms. "Not at all. Just taking a well deserved break, as it were."

"Are you really my brother?" she demanded. "You want to, to...relax? That's it?" She looked away, muttering, "That's so anticlimactic."

"I suppose," he responded slowly. "But...it'd be good for you."

"You're that worried for me? Don't bother. I'll be in top fighting condition in two more weeks." A wary smile started to spread on her face as she turned to him again. "Are you sure you're not trying to say that you've stopped dreaming?"

"Like I said, not at all."

She shook her head at this, finally understanding. Her brother looked the same as always, stoic to a fault, but she had always been able to figure out the things he wanted to say but couldn't for whatever reason. "Fine, fine. The house probably needs a lot of work anyway. That thing you call a chocobo probably pecked all sorts of holes into the fences."

"Boco is not a woodpecker," he stated before he stood up. "I'll let you get some rest. Beowulf mentioned that he'd like to visit you later."

"Great. I feel popular." She grinned as Wiegraf made his way to the door. "Hey, Wie." He turned at this, the diminutive she had used in her childhood. "Cheer up a bit. I'm not going to die on you. I know you'd just go crazy without me, and I wouldn't dare inflict that on the world."

There was a small smile on his face at this assumption. "Sure. Whatever you'd like to believe." He left as she laughed, feeling better than she had in weeks. She laid back down on the narrow bed, but she didn't close her eyes.

No more remembering. Not while she felt almost free from the guilt for once.

-0-

Night had fallen for an hour by the time Zalbag had finished reviewing the paperwork for the day. All was going well with the Hokuten, especially when it came to their reputation, and he had been burdened with less of the faction's problems than usual. He had also received a letter from Marquis Elmdor and, judging by the country lord's good spirits, he would be able to pull the Hokuten he had sent to Limberry to help with the village. His duties had never been so well ordered since he had first accepted the leadership as per his father's wishes. His family, however, seemed to be doing exponentially worse.

Inwardly, he sighed as he left his office. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He strode over to the Beoulve quarters, wanting nothing more than to sleep in his own bed. But before he could do that, he would try to get his sister to say something substantial to him. He could understand the need for mourning, but he felt that two weeks was overdoing it. He was trying his best to find Ramza and Delita, couldn't she see that?

Reaching Alma's room, he knocked on her door. "Alma? Are you asleep?" he called. He was the only one who ever approached her room these days to try and talk to her. Disgust bloomed in his mind when he recalled Dycedarg's flippant attitude regarding the events that had shaken up their family.

_-Do not worry so much. She will talk when she is ready. If you would excuse me, I have work to do_-

His elder brother hadn't even said a word about the fate of Ramza, and he seriously doubted Dycedarg remembered the Hyral siblings. No, there were too many other things more important to the eldest Beoulve than family. Zalbag felt as if he were a court jester struggling to juggle his many responsibilities, aching to keep them forever aloft lest they end up shattered at his feet. There was no option to stop, or to let one fall in order to save the others. There was just him, slipping little by little.

"Brother Zalbag?" Alma answered weakly. He braced himself for her questions, the ones he couldn't answer. "Come in."

This was a new development, but Zalbag had learned long ago never to keep his hopes up. He entered her room. Other than a small lantern on her pine desk, there was no light. His sister was sitting in her bed, her blankets scattered around her legs. A plain white nightgown covered her from the neck down, and her long hair hung over her shoulders, unfettered by the ribbons and ties she so loved. Her pallor disturbed him, even after he allowed for the small amount of light her lantern was able to cast.

"You should eat more. You look unwell," he started. Then he realized that probably wasn't the best way to start a conversation with her. She only looked away from him, her mouth just one thin line of disapproval. "What would you like to talk about?" he tried again. This was a better avenue of discussion, judging by the way she turned back to face him.

"I have been thinking that...perhaps Ramza and Delita will not come home."

He leaned against her door, surprised that her hope had dwindled away so quickly. "Why would you think that?"

"If you cannot find them, maybe they do not want to be found. At least, I would think this is so with Delita." She lowered her head. "And Ramza would stay with him in the meanwhile."

"Are you telling me that searching for them is futile?"

"I...do not know. What good would it do to drag them back? Delita hates..." She brought her hands up to her face, struggling to hold back her tears.

Zalbag couldn't understand. He had heard Alma's account of the incident, but he had figured that Delita's words were those of a grieving man-certainly justifiable considering the circumstances. He figured he would keep a search party out, just in case. Delita had taken Teta's body with him, and Zalbag guessed that the brunet's first plan had been centered around burying her body. By now, he would've done so and would probably be in the vicinity of Teta's grave. Alma was right that Ramza would've stayed with Delita. Find one, find the other.

"I want to leave."

Zalbag was jerked out of his thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"

"I...there is nothing I can do here. I cannot be useful to your investigation. Should I just wait here until you and Dycedarg marry me off?" Alma asked, some of her old fire in her voice. "Please, do not give me up to such a sad life just yet."

"Then, what would you like?" Zalbag questioned. Privately, he would've been open to anything, just as long as she left her room and became herself again.

Her eyes were wide with a hidden plea as she looked up at him. "I was told by Bishop Simon that I would be a worthy cleric with my potential. I would like to live in Murond and maybe..." she faltered slightly, then shook her head, "maybe I can become useful to others. I could heal them. I could save lives..."

_Murond? That is more than fine with me, but..._ "You could just stay here and be escorted there for your lessons," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No, I want to live there. This place is not much of a home without Ramza and my friends. Not anymore."

"I see," Zalbag replied, his face not betraying that he had been stung by the comment. _Well_, he reasoned, _Dycedarg and I are always busy. She would have no one except for the maids to converse with. It would be for the best_. "I will set up all the necessary arrangements tomorrow, if that is your wish."

"Thank you, Brother," she said, smiling up at him. The shadows thrown by the meager light of the lanterns fractured her face, making her look far more older than her round cheeks would suggest. "I am sorry for my selfishness"

"Alma, lying is not your forte." He shook his head at her gaping face. "I trust you will sleep well?"

"Yes. Goodnight, Zalbag."

"Goodnight," he murmured, stepping out of her room. Once outside and with the door safely shut behind him, he sighed. Had his family always been destined to break away, crumbling apart like so much dried mud?

There was nothing he could do about if it were true, and that knowledge hurt.

-End of Chapter Twelve-

So, this is the end of the first arc and a gentle transition into the meat of the story. I'm a little stressed and I actually do have classes to contend with, so I'm currently exploring my options. It's not quite so easy to bang out 12 to 24 pages (4,000 to 9,000 words) every week while doing all my required reading and studying, not to talk of other miscellaneous things. I have my spring break on the week of the 21st, so I'll come up with a solution by then. Oh, and to all _Penitentes_ readers: the first chapter is being moved back to the end of the month.

Reviewers!

Trueborn Chaos, I thank you for your view regarding villains. I don't agree with most of it, probably because most FF villains are so over the top compared to actual 'human' villains. Well, I don't think the FF numbered series really has 'good' villains compared to other RPGs...they seem to be all flash and very little substance. I'd say the same about the games too, even though I like them.   
Hm...I can't really respond to all those bits and pieces, but... 'And what about Miluda then?' What about Miluda?

Hey, Luna. I remember when I said that about plot twists. I don't know why, but I always feel as if everyone's already guessed what's going to happen next. But hey, I'm glad you're surprised! You know, I hadn't even thought that I was using the crossbow incident to get the same results in a different way. Shows how observant I am.   
Argh, Dycedarg. That's all I really have to say.  
Thanks for your thoughts regarding Gustav. I agree, villains are very hard to get right...or is that wrong? (Yeah, puns suck. I'm tired.)

It's great to see you again, TobyKikami! I really liked how you had to specify which swords our 'Three Musketeers' would be holding. The fact that you did made it worse, thanks. :)   
As to the second part of your review, it was deliberate to have Gaffy ambushed by using a fake Ovelia. He deserved it, the jerk.   
I noticed that you're writing a BoFIV fic. I can't read it because it's the only BoF I've never played, but could you tell me how good the game itself is? I've been playing the hell out of BoFIII, which might be one of the reasons why I'm so stressed.

Hello, Evil Mina! I'm glad to see you were following this story. It's totally understandable that you'd be ambivalent about this fic, but I'm really happy that you went on reading instead of rushing for the back button. I think, regarding the rest of that paragraph, it's a lot easier to write whatever I want since this is an AU.   
I never really cared about sympathetic villains. Half the villains in RPGs today seem like they needed to be held by their mommy more, or could use the number of a really good therapist. The same goes for the heroes. I can't feel good about beating up that kind of enemy. So yeah, I'm getting off track. Algus is an idiot, but I find that, if there really is a God, He likes idiots the most.   
I can't agree with your statement that Teta died for nothing. I would argue that she died so that her best friend could live, and that is decidedly not 'for nothing'. I think I see your point about martyr-charas, and you're right that it sets up a lot of story possibilities.   
Whew, it's really easy to respond to your reviews. I remember you saying in ZS that you didn't like to review the same story twice, but I'd be more than happy if you dropped a comment or two every once in a while. The more the merrier, right?  
Oh, and I saw your poll about Delita. In a nutshell, I neither like nor loathe him, because I don't find him very interesting.


	14. 13: Sweet Chance

Une Fleuraison Constante  
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

Chapter Thirteen: Sweet Chance

The cabernet sauvignon grape of rainy northern Valendia was the primary ingredient of the wine; imported from the cellars of Leà Monde, it was a beautifully dark vintage. It was not a varietal, a wine made chiefly from one type of grape, but rather a highly sophisticated blend that included merlot to lessen the puckerish tannic and a surprising amount of zinfandel to darken the color and leave the barest hint of berry playfully dancing along the overall richness of the cabernet sauvignon. This created a piquant yet full-bodied wine with a soothing bouquet and a slightly rough finish; it had not aged long enough for all of the coarseness to seep away from the aftertaste. But, it was in this lingering sharpness that the full character of the wine could be observed. The complex blend could never hide the bitter quality of the very noble main grape.

It was a blend suited for Dycedarg Beoulve.

He savored a mouthful of it now, letting it flow down his throat with drawn out swallows that bordered on reverent. The aftertaste rose, sharp and acidic, biting delightfully along his tongue and the insides of his mouth. What a wonderful blend, lively even after the drink fled. It softened his countenance slightly, reddening the fair skin that all the Beoulve siblings possessed. It even made it easier to accept the unexpected setbacks that his political career had been sparsely dotted with. He did not take well to failures of any kind, particularly his own, and so the drink was needed to maintain the precious control he so valued.

Just as his hand reached for the glass of wine, a knock sounded on his office door. There was only a narrowing of dark brown eyes before Dycedarg aborted the move and instead rested his chin on his hand. "Come in, my lord," he called. It was no mere assumption; Duke Larg was the only person who would dare drop by at lunchtime to talk business.

The door opened and the duke shuffled in, looking as stressed and despondent as he had two weeks before, when that impertinent Shrine Knight came to steal the princess away. Dycedarg stroked the end of his beard, the only sign of annoyance he ever showed around the man who was his lord. "Dycedarg," Bestrada Larg started in that wheedly tone that grated on the eldest Beoulve's nerves, "how long will it be until we are able to retrieve Ovelia?"

Dycedarg smiled thinly. "Soon enough, my lord." For two weeks he had been forced to answer that question on a daily basis. His lord was a fool, and in his experience he knew full well how easy it was to ward off the curiosity of fools with simple answers, so as to not harm their meager faculties too much.

That would come later.

Today, the duke seemed to see right through the answer. "That is what you have been saying. I trust you, of course." _Of course_, Dycedarg thought, _you have not the mind to do anything else_. "I am just worried as to Murond's reasons for wanting to take her in at that crucial time."

Worrying, always worrying. That was another thing that annoyed the Rune Knight. Listening to other people's little worries, having to repeat himself, and having his noontime drink interrupted. "Yes, of course. That would be understandable," he responded, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

"Well? Do you think that Murond can be trusted? Would they be more affiliated with us, or with Zeltennia?" Larg pestered. The tiniest crack was beginning to show on Dycedarg's diffident facade.

"Murond is not affiliated with anyone but God," Dycedarg answered in the tone he reserved for people who needed to be led slowly through explanations, like Zalbag or the duke. Larg did not notice the change in inflection now, having been exposed to it so often. "Murond only needs to care about themselves. They have little to do with the true halls of the castle. They have no political aspirations." This last statement was a lie, he was sure of it, but to reveal anything on that front would just lead to more irritating questions.

"As you say," Larg said doubtfully. "But if I may be so bold Dycedarg, it seems that lately your word has not been up to the standard I would expect from you. First there was the whole debacle with the Death Knights failing to do away with Ovelia, and you were even forced to capitulate to that Pillar of Knowledge on their bluff..."

"It was not a bluff," Dycedarg rebutted in a very polite tone, his jaw stiff. His drink interrupted, having to repeat himself, having to hear insipid worries, and now being doubted, as well as having to be reminded about his own failure regarding that Murond dog. There was another crack in the formerly seamless facade. "I did ask why, if they wanted to take Ovelia, did they not offer the same to Alma - "

_-Well, I would not say that the Beoulve family is less than the royal bloodline. Certainly we will take the Lady Alma Beoulve. But, as I recall, she is off playing the princess at the present moment. So please, as soon as she is able, you will inform us, will you not?-_

" - and Sir Wodring agreed, if you can remember. Today, Zalbag is taking her over there for her own studies. They were being sincere about their offer to Ovelia."

"Oh, I see. Forgive my hastiness in doubting your word," the duke said, clearly chastened.

_Words of apology from a moron are not worth much_, Dycedarg scoffed, _mistakes to a fool are like weeds to a garden_. "I humbly thank you for your graciousness," he mumbled in return, affecting a sort of contrite behavior at being the one to make his lord deign to offer an apology.

"Well then, in that case, my fears are alleviated. Continue to see what you can do about bringing Ovelia back as soon as possible. I would feel much more comfortable once that obstacle is eliminated," Bestrada ordered. "Of course, you still have the, uh, potion?"

"Yes, of course, my lord." _If I only could put it in your drink, my lord_.

"Good, good. Well then, I shall leave you to your..." The duke eyed the innocuous glass of wine on the desk. "Wine. Drinking your lunch, my friend? Should I be worried?" He smiled, not waiting for a reply before he left the office.

The bland light in Dycedarg's eyes shifted to something more cold, venom in a glance. He looked at his wine glass, the dark liquid almost beckoning him to quaff down the rest of the rich, bittersweet wine. Steadily, he reached for the glass and took a sip, determined to take in the wine the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

Now that he thought about it, he wouldn't dare waste his precious poisons on an imbecile like his lord. A dagger sounded much nicer, much more fitting. He disliked getting his hands dirty with such an overt action, but after the daily annoyances he had to put up with in serving the leader of Gallionne, he felt he deserved the satisfaction.

And then he would never have to bow to another man. For once, the Beoulve family would get what they deserved. Ivalice was within his grasp.

It was just a matter of time.

-0-

"So, they took our bluff."

Rofel grinned and waved away the smoke floating towards him. "It would appear so, though it does not seem to be on purpose."

"...Oh?" Vormav's tone was dry. "Are you to tell me that Dycedarg is sending his sister here on accident?"

Shaking his head, Rofel moved so that he would no longer be downwind of the smoke expelled from his commander's cigarette. He chose to lean against a corner of the turret they were currently at the top of before he smiled. "First of all, it was Zalbag who contacted me about sending their sister here, and he told me that it was her idea."

There was no expression on the older man's face as he absorbed this information. "Since when did noblewomen think for themselves?"

"Apparently, the girl is traumatized after losing her brother and her friends, the wards of the Beoulves. Even so, Zalbag claims that she is a willful child," Rofel answered, even though he was sure that was a rhetorical question. He thought over his second sentence and hastened to translate that so it would sound better for the Beoulve girl's sake. "Willful as in energetic, not that she is spoiled."

Vormav placed one end of the small tube at his lips, but did not inhale. There was a frown that gave rise to a number of wrinkles on his brow. "It has nothing to do with me. What do you want?"

The Pillar of Knowledge hid his second grin. The two men were good friends, but Rofel knew that he was straining his leader's tolerance the longer he stayed. Vormav did not take lightly to interruptions while enjoying a smoke. "I would like to borrow your son."

"Take him. Keep him. I do not care."

"Vormav, that is your own..." Rofel started, then paused. This was an old argument that would quickly go nowhere, and today he did not wish to repeat it. "Rather, I would like to give the boy a chance to prove his worth, once and for all."

There was an exhale of smoke before the Shrine Knight commander asked, "And what sort of feat would you have him do?"

"I would like him to be the Lady Alma's bodyguard for the duration of her stay."

"Hn." The end of the cigarette was crushed into the turret, leaving a dark smear. "And how would that prove anything?"

"The girl is willful." _Much like yourself_, Rofel did not add. "This will teach your son how to deal with those that would actively fight him in more subtle ways than by use of the sword. He is a Shrine Knight of Murond, and it is time that he had duties that reflected that status."

Sporting a droll look on his face, Vormav turned to face Rofel for the first time of the impromptu meeting. "I see. Then, I suppose you should find him. But perhaps you should give him some time."

"Why do you say that?" He couldn't help it; Rofel simply couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

Standing between determination and indecision, Vormav glanced at Rofel then turned away, disgust wrinkling his whole face. "I suppose you would already know," he said gruffly as he headed for the stairs, "that today is Izlude's birthday. His mother would have appreciated that he had some rest on this day, if no other."

"What a kind father you are."

"Hn."

-0-

"Ahh...Vivienne, this is a nice day, is it not?"

"Ku-po."

"Such a nice breeze. Let us see, I completed a thousand sword swings before breakfast. After all, even though I am a knight now, I cannot slack off on my training, right?"

"Kupopo."

"That is what I thought. I think I am getting better. I mean, I have learned to concentrate my swings so that they will always hit my enemy...no, opponent. I could never call a fellow Ivalician an enemy; after all, we would both wish the best for our shared land, right?"

"Kupopo."

"Thank you. I just want to serve Ivalice, and the Order as well. Though, it appears I will not be able to do it as a Divine Knight in quite the while. Melia was a Divine Knight at twenty, but I cannot compare with her."

"...Kupo?"

"No, it is nothing. I will just try harder. That is all I can do, right?"

"Kupo!"

Izlude Tingel smiled as he sat underneath an apple tree nearby the Murond stables. Reaching up with one bare hand, he patted the small moogle that was perched atop his head, grinning as it cooed and kupo'ed in contentment. "Thank you for listening like always. Say, could you fly up there and grab an apple?" The mystical creature jumped immediately, hovering above Izlude for a moment before it began its journey to the lower branches of the tall tree. Ever since he had found her - and she had to be a female, considering that she had pouted when he had given her a male name - the moogle had been a constant companion. Izlude had found her adoration strange at first, but now he accepted it wholeheartedly.

It had been the a couple months ago, at the start of spring, when Izlude had made his quarterly trip to the castle's graveyard. His sister had been unable to go with him like they had planned, so he went by himself to give his respects to his mother. Afterward, he had decided to roam the fields, walking alongside his chocobo and taking in the cool breeze as it skirted over his bare face. That was when he had noticed in the distance a small white creature lying still on the dirt. He had run to it and administered healing through one of the potions he always carried with him when he traveled. The moogle had awoken, flapped her dusky purple wings, and proceeded to hover around him as he tried to cajole her into going back to wherever she had come from. But she never had, and by now he would admit that he would miss her if she decided to leave.

An apple fell on his head. He rubbed the sore spot while muttering, "I already know about gravity." Vivienne came floating down a moment later, landing on his shoulder and kupo'ing worriedly as she touched the side of his head with her small paws. "Do not worry so, Vivi," he said, smiling to alleviate her concern, "I still live." His hands reaching down onto the grass beside him, he retrieved the apple. After cleaning it off with the end of his dark brown tunic, he reached for the dagger all knights carried at their sides, the silver gleaming in the sunlight as he sliced off a small piece of apple. "Here you are," he announced as he handed the slice to the moogle, who took it and began to nibble on its edges. Izlude balanced the dagger on his thigh before he sank his teeth into the round, red fruit.

Two large bites later, and Izlude noticed a figure approaching from the castle. Being far-sighted, it was as clear as daylight to him who the person with the long green dress and golden gauntlets was, and he smiled. He raised one hand in greeting and saw his sister beam in response. With the length of her Glabados sisterhood gown, it looked like she was daintily skimming just above the field, but Izlude knew that she was probably wearing the heaviest boots and greaves underneath that ultimate sign for femininity. His sister, the enigma.

"Hello, Izlude," she said as she reached him.

Izlude smiled broadly at the fuzzy image of his elder sister. He was fairly certain she was smiling back. "Melia, what are you doing out here?" She was often busy with her many duties as both a knight and a woman of the sisterhood, and the only time she really spent with him these days was for training. Despite this, he still felt close to her, the sister who had raised him after their mother died.

"What am I doing out here?" she asked, her tone that of surprise. Gathering the heavy skirts of her dress, she sat down with a huff, then pulled down the hood of the surcoat she habitually wore over her dress, exposing her short hair. "I came to wish you happy birthday, of course!"

The smile dropped from Izlude's face, only to be replaced by a sheepish expression. "Oh, right." _Ah, so that explains all those white mages at morning practice_, he realized.

As if she was reading his mind, Meliadoul grinned. "I hear the white mages have a surprise for you."

"They are not cooking again, are they?"

"I would hope not. I think I gained two stone's worth of weight from all those pastries. Have you ever considered how hard it is to swing a sword if your stomach is in the way?"

Izlude smiled and looked away. "Even if you were a sphere with arms and legs, the name 'Meliadoul Tingel' would still be an example to all incoming knights for true sword skill," he said, his smile turning wistful, "and you know it."

"They rate me too highly for their own good," she sighed. "I could never become like Dad, no matter how much everyone expects it of me."

_Better than me, at any rate_, Izlude thought. He knew it was better to keep such thoughts to himself, lest he incur the wrath of his sister. She never seemed to understand that there was a disparity between them, and always insisted that one day he would become a great Divine Knight. _But, the title matters not...at least, that is what I think._

He wasn't sure if he truly believed that, or only convinced himself in a vain attempt to keep the growling beast of jealously at bay.

"I was thinking that we should enjoy ourselves today," he heard Meliadoul change the subject, and he was glad for it. "It really is a great day. For just a little while, I would like to not have to think about Murond or duties."

A small frown appeared on the younger sibling's face. He turned to face his sister and asked, "Is something wrong? That is not like you." Belatedly, he noticed that Vivienne was no longer on his shoulder, and he wondered when she had left.

"Is that so?" Meliadoul looked doubtful. "Well, to tell the truth - " An apple fell on her lap, surprising her out of her sentence. Picking up the fruit with both hands, she admired it for a moment before she glanced up. "Oh, hello there, Vivi."

Izlude felt the familiar weight of the moogle as she landed atop his right shoulder, right before she slid down his chest and landed onto his lap. He scratched her behind her ears, doing his best to avoid the very sensitive antenna and red pompom. "Good girl," he murmured before picking up his dagger and slicing off another piece of apple for the creature. She chirped cheerfully as she received it, and the young man could only smile. His sister was spending time with him in a way that didn't include her beating him down with sharp implements, Vivienne was as cute as ever, and the day was nothing short of enjoyable. Oh, and his apple was delicious. Nothing could spoil this moment.

A while later, with the apple cores discarded off to the side and Vivienne having dozed off, Meliadoul turned to Izlude and smiled. Immediately, there was a heavy feeling deep in his stomach as he caught sight of the blur of her lips curving in that oh-so-sly manner. With trepidation slithering over him, he tried to smile back. "What is it?"

"By the way, I was asked to find you and let you know that you are to be given a duty of great importance." Meliadoul turned away and shrugged, continuing with, "I believe everyone is waiting at the second floor Murond-Gallionne hallway."

"...Everyone?" he whispered, his brows creasing. He wasn't sure if his sister was playing a cruel trick on him or not. This wasn't her usual style though, and that worried him. "Who do you mean when you say 'everyone'?"

"Well, you know. Sir Rofel, Dad, two of the Beou - "

"Father?" Eyes wide with surprise, he sprang up from his seat, the action causing Vivienne to fall onto the ground with an indignant squeak. Scooping up the moogle in his arms, Izlude glared at his sister. "And only _now_ you tell me?"

Meliadoul looked up at him so calmly, yet he felt as if he was going to burst. How could she _do_ this to him? She could be the most irresponsible knight around, and everyone would still love and respect her. Their father would...but it wasn't the same for him! He was tip-toeing on eggshells while she pranced about wherever she pleased.

He wasn't jealous, no. He just _understood_.

Standing up, his sister stretched out the kinks in her back while he glared at her balefully. Then she reached out and touched his arm, and he glared at the offending object. Harsh words were never something he liked to indulge in, but he had a very expressive face. "Izlude, I was told that the message could wait." She smiled reassuringly, but blurs had never impressed him very much. "Dad told me himself."

"Father would never say anything like that outright," Izlude challenged.

"He told me, 'It figures the boy's birthday would look so peaceful. It is the sort of day anyone would enjoy,' and he was being very gruff about it but Dad has always been easy to read." She dropped her hand and tilted her head, and he couldn't help but feel bad. "Dad always has our best intentions in mind. You can trust your big sis Melia on that."

Sheepishly, he looked away. "Right, I apologize for doubting you. Still, is it not rude to let visitors wait? Who are they, again?"

"Two of the Beoulve siblings, the Hokuten Holy Knight and the girl." They began to walk towards the castle, albeit at a leisurely pace. "I heard that you will be the girl's bodyguard."

"Is she really that important to need a guard?"

"Oh, you know. She probably cannot protect herself, so we have to do that for her. And, it is a courtesy since Gallionne is pretty powerful these days."

"I see...so then, full armor and sword?"

"Strap on the spear too, it will make you look like someone ready for any situation. Let us show them that the Shrine Knights are just as imposing as the Hokuten!"

Izlude grinned, inspired by Meliadoul's announcement. It was true, he was one of the Shrine Knights, the best and most well-rounded faction in all of Ivalice. He was a Tingel, by God, and he could succeed at any task put before him. Though he was not very important now, he would keep trying his hardest; after all, even the castle was not built in a day.

Father had always had his best intentions in mind; he would not shirk from those expectations now!

-0-

Ovelia sat on her bed and thumbed through the tome resting on her lap. It was for her lessons while she stayed in Murond, and she accepted this as she had accepted every other event in her life: gracefully and without a fight. Why would she fight? It was her destiny to forever be shuffled around from place to place; even those who moved from village to village to escape the specter of poverty were not as transient as she. Her bodyguard Agrias stood next to the door, as was her wont. Neither woman had said anything since the dawn broke, save for Ovelia's request that the lady knight help with her hair. But, that was a ritual with them. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and if all was right with God, nothing would happen.

Numbly, the princess turned the page.

A knock on the door interrupted this picture of perfect stillness, startling the both of them. Agrias turned to face the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the hilt of her sword. "Who goes there?" she demanded.

"A message from Sir Rofel Wodring, the Pillar of Knowledge!" a male voice properly snapped back. With a hard jerk the lady knight opened the door, and from her vantage point the princess could see that the messenger was a young man in the regulation gold armor of the Shrine Knights. A gray surcoat covered much of his chest - the only thing that wasn't blocked by Agrias' frame - and his dark brown hair was left uncovered. Ovelia couldn't help but think that the knight that visited them was much messier compared to the austere and proper Sir Wodring.

"State your business," Agrias said, and Ovelia could hear the annoyance threading those few words. Her bodyguard had always been a creature of habit and an interruption like this was unforgivable.

The young man glanced at her direction_ - his eyes are the same green as the darkest foliage_, the princess could not help but notice - before he returned his attention to the woman in front of him. "Sir Wodring would like to inform our princess that the Lady Beoulve has entered Murond for magical studies. He understands that our princess and Lady Beoulve are well acquainted from their time at Orbonne, and if our princess should ever feel lonely she - "

"The princess is never lonely," the Holy Knight answered with a preciseness as sharp as shattered glass, "for she has all of Ivalice to consider at any time."

"...Of course. My apologies for assuming that our princess might feel the same as us lowly plebeians," the knight with the gray surcoat snarled back.

Agrias' shoulders stiffened in indignation. "How dare you! What is your name and rank? I will have you reported for your gross misconduct towards the princess!"

Ovelia stood, feeling as if she had no choice. "Agrias, please stand down." The lady knight did so, kneeling stiffly as the princess approached the door. "Sir Knight, I would ask you a question."

The young man knelt, his head bowed. "The will of the princess is my will." His answer was simple, yet it flowed nicely, and Ovelia immediately realized that this Shrine Knight happened to be a man of high birth. Young nobles tended not to fluff their words with the heavy hand of the sycophant; the age of the aristocrat was inversely related to the level of pride they held for themselves.

"I thank you. You have reported that Lady Beoulve has entered Murond. Is anyone else accompanying her?"

"Her brother, the Holy Knight of the Hokuten, had accompanied the Lady Beoulve, my princess."

Brushing down the front of her gown, Ovelia could not help but frown. Something about this seemed wrong. "No others?"

"None, my princess."

"I see. Thank you for your assistance," she answered in a tone clearly meant for dismissal. It made her wince to use such a voice, but the Shrine Knight understood its meaning and left. Agrias stood to close the door while Ovelia turned away and headed for her bed. _How strange_, she mused, _I would think that Teta would be with Alma_.

"Is something wrong, Princess?" she heard her loyal guard ask, but she didn't feel like sharing her thoughts. She shook her head, knowing that the action would stem further questioning. Agrias was a good knight in that way. Instead of opening up to the only person she really knew, Ovelia picked up her book and stared at the page she had left off, but all she could see were vast, rippling fields of green in her mind's eye.

_How nice it would be to once again be free from these fortresses of stone_, she thought as she gazed into her window of fantasy, _to journey across Ivalice with such varied companions like that time before. To be a part of something exciting...something special. How can I be called a princess of Ivalice if I cannot experience the myriad wonders of my birth land?_

_Is there anyone who can bring me to those wonderful fields again?_

-End to Chapter Thirteen-

I'm sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but I'm just seriously burnt out when it comes to this series. I'm still interested in it, but I don't want to write this only out of obligation. It was painfully hard to write about Izlude. Izlude! Anyone and everyone's written something about adorable Izzy _because_ he's that damn easy to write about. It's definitely time for a change of pace when _Dycedarg's_ easier to write. Next chapter will be up 4/19, but I'll try to make _Penitentes_ a weekly serial in its stead.

Notes:

God only knows if that grape blend actually produces a wine of that flavor; wine's not my alcohol of choice.

In the Japanese FFT, Izlude always refers to Vormav as 'chichiue', which is a very formal term literally meaning 'father above (me)'. It's not uncommon in the game; Dycedarg and Zalbag use that term too. However, Meliadoul always calls Vormav 'tousan', which is a lot more casual...almost too much for the era pictured in FFT.

Reviewers!

Hello, Trueborn Chaos! I'm the same way when it comes to overdoing it when talking, so I don't talk very often. I really like listening to other people, so it all works out.   
I totally agree with you about Kefka; he made me want to hate him, even though he had a couple great one-liners ("You all sound like chapters from a self-help booklet!").  
Hm, thanks for your opinion on BoF IV!  
Hey, spring is awesome, don't disrespect. Love to see more sunny days, especially after the deluge I've been experiencing here lately.  
How will the Shrine Knights fit in the grand scheme of things? Rather nicely, actually.

If a TobyKikami went by no name at all, would her reviews read the same? Yep, though I appreciate all the clarifications you made.  
After two game discs, three different saves and two years, I can say that BoF III is quite the mediocre game. Fishing is great, and I really like the breaking away from the 'we have to save the world from the great evil!' cliché, so in those respects the game's actually kinda good. But I will pick up BoF IV, and I'll see for myself how this 'Fou-Lu' dude is in the villain department.  
The best thing about writing an AU that sorta-kinda parallels the game is employing all sorts of dramatic irony that doesn't include my sarcastic wit.

Heh, that's a nice review Evil Mina. I've had longer, but I'm still kinda impressed. And let's ignore that innuendo and get on with the reply!  
Having two fic series up at once at the expense of my life usually doesn't bother me because I can't not write.   
Thanks for the compliments, especially regarding the new, improved Vormav with 50 percent more dry wit! Really, though, since I go by the belief that in-game Vormav is always Hashmalum, who's to say what the real Vormav's personality was like? Zalbag though...he doesn't have an excuse. I just like writing the adults more.   
I think what made FFT's villains work was that they were so human that it was actually easier to hate them sometimes. I've known people like Algus all my life, people who will put you down because they were raised to believe that a certain race or socioeconomic status is lower than them. At the same time, I've seen people twist their beliefs based on how the world perceives them, so I can extend some empathy towards Wiegraf...but I can't respect that or him. FFT is a good game in that respect; in many other games put out these days, I feel like it's more of 'manufactured sympathy', that I'm forced to sympathize with complete angst-fests just because they're so _tortured_. Does that make sense?  
As far as Teta and her sacrifice goes, I think that you're being practical in what you think. That's not insensitive in the least. Sometimes I'm moved by characters sacrificing themselves; Reis is one of my favorite characters from any game, and a lot of that has to do with just the written description of her jumping in and taking the curse meant for Beowulf. That impresses me. In Teta's case, she's unfortunately the perfect victim. I just wanted to have her death mean more than just 'Delita's catalyst'.   
Heh, I guess I rambled on too. Oh, and please don't make a second review apologizing for the first. It's pointless, bloats up my review count, and is a pet peeve of mine (right up there with authors reviewing their own work to respond to their reviewers).

Hey, ...11! Glad you're still enjoying this story. I'm still learning how to write effective twists and turns, but I'll continue to try and not disappoint!


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